


Bagginshield Alphabet

by Emsiecat



Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: A bit of everything really except heavy angst, Alternate Universe - Bilbo Remains In Erebor, Alternate Universe - Thorin Moves to the Shire, Battle of Five Armies - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Domestic Fluff, Dwarves in the Shire, Fluff, M/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-30
Updated: 2015-10-26
Packaged: 2018-04-24 04:50:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 26
Words: 39,248
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4906153
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Emsiecat/pseuds/Emsiecat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tumblr has decided to do an event for fans by fans during October called 'Bagginshield Alphabet'. Each day up until the 26th is given a different letter of the alphabet and prompts to go with it in order to inspire fan-works for the pairing. </p><p>Here are my entries.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. A is for Acorn

**Author's Note:**

> I've chosen to try and do a wee drabble (and maybe, if the muses take me, artwork) for my submissions for the Bagginshield Alphabet. I am going to attempt to submit something every day if possible. Here's hoping!
> 
> Apologies in advance is anyone is OOC or if the drabbles aren't particularly good. I'm fairly new to writing for this fandom, and am currently suffering with writer-block. I'm crossing my fingers that this event will help shake me out of it!
> 
> If you'd like to participate in the event, go here: http://bagginshieldalphabet.tumblr.com/ to read the prompts.
> 
> Okay so I'm an hour early with this one, but I wanted to get it posted before I go to bed. Just pretend it's the 1st October already ;) (P.S. I don't pretend to know anything about planting acorns! This is just what i've heard and read about them).

 

"You do realise that if you just chuck it in the ground like that it will likely rot away to nothing rather than sprout, yes?"

Thorin started and whirled to face the owner of the voice, his sudden movement causing him to fumble and nearly drop the tiny nut resting innocuously in the palm of his hand.

Once more, it seemed he was intent on proving that the title of burglar had not been lightly bestowed upon him; Thorin hadn't even heard Bilbo approach.

True he'd been lost in thought staring at the acorn he held almost protectively, but still… it was quite impressive just how often the hobbit could startle others by creeping up as silent as shadow and as unremarkable as a summer breeze.

All nonsense of course, he was very remarkable in Thorin's not so humble opinion-

"I- well I assumed such a hardy tree would not be difficult to grow." The reply was a little late in coming, considering Thorin had spent a moment or two blinking in a bewildered manner as he let the unexpected words sink in.

And no, he wasn't staring thank you very much. He just hadn't expected Bilbo to be there, so he was unprepared to see him; all wide grins and honey coloured curls, and he really did suit the sunlight drenched lands and green rolling hills of the Shire better than mountains and dark forests.

"Many folk seem to think that. It's not the case though. Why do you think oak trees produce as many acorns as they do, yet so few of them survive and thrive once those acorns fall?" it was a rhetorical question, Bilbo did not intend to give Thorin long enough to even consider an answer. He ambled over to hum contemplatively over the acorn himself. "They actually need quite a bit of care if you want them to grow healthy and strong, I'm not implying simplicity and a hard start in life will necessarily ruin it of course, in fact I expect there's some out there that thrive on it; but a little love never hurt either."

If the sly grin Bilbo was wearing was anything to go by, Thorin had a distinct suspicion that they weren't solely discussing the flourishing properties of acorns anymore.

"What would you suggest then?" Thorin's voice held a hint of good natured amusement, giving the hobbit a sidelong look to convey that he knew just what unspoken words were dancing through Bilbo's thoughts.

"Hmm, a few things," Bilbo waved a hand noncommittally before stealing the acorn from Thorin's palm and holding it between thumb and forefinger to scrutinise it, his nose scrunching up in thought. "It was a bit of an oversight of me really, only taking one from Beorn's garden. I've no notion if this one is even good enough to survive planting, it might already be rotten considering how much time has passed."

And passed time had. It had been a good seven years since Thorin and his Company had reached Erebor, since dragon sickness, the battle, and five years since Thorin had given up his throne upon seeing the devastating consequences war and sickness and ill will could wrought.

They had been very fortunate all things considered. Though the losses had been great, Thorin's Company had by some miracle, all survived the battle. There had been a while afterwards, where it had been feared this might not be the case. Fíli, Kíli, and Thorin's own wounds were so severe, many of their kin assumed they would die before a week was out.

It was only the tireless work of Óin, and handful of sympathetic elven healers (a certain redheaded Captain of the Guard amongst them), and Bilbo's stubborn persistence in aiding wherever he could that prevented such a fate from passing.

Slowly, agonizingly slowly, their wounds healed and their strength returned to them. Thorin had been certain his nephews would drive the healers mad before they were fully recuperated; such was their determination to leave their sickbeds and help with the restoration of their homeland.

More than once, Thorin woke from fevered dreams to hear Bilbo scolding the boys something proper over leaving their beds and threatening to either set Dwalin on them, or worse still; contact their mother.

As for Thorin, despite breaking free of the madness by himself, despite ending the threat to their bloodline and receiving Bilbo's forgiveness on Ravenhill, he was slower to heal, in mind and spirit at least. He blamed himself for everything that had transpired even though a rational part of himself knew that he shouldn't. He feared… Mahal how he feared the sickness might return, and if it should, that he might not be strong enough to quell it a second time.

That wasn't even the worst of it. He realised, as the months wore on and he was able to shoulder more and more of his kingly duties, that the role simply didn't fit him. Up until this point, he had been a king in name and family only. In Ered Luin those loyal to the name of Durin had looked up to him as a lord, those in the Company during the quest had deferred to him as their leader, but never had Thorin truly experienced what it meant to be a king.

Long and arduous meetings with dignitaries he had to pretend to like for the sake of propriety, trying to barter and negotiate with neighbours no better off than themselves. Overseeing projects rather than helping with them as he would like as his wounds still healed, and having to bear the words "a king does not do that kind of work, Your Majesty". Worse than any of this was the obligation of supervising the dwarves who took account of the treasury. Thorin _hated_ that hoard now, the tawdry glinting and glistening of coin and gem made him feel physically sick, the very idea that he might go mad again coiled in his belly like a poisonous serpent and constricted his lungs until time and again he found himself nearly gasping out his excuses and leaving the room in a hurry.

So, after only two years as king, Thorin had abdicated.

He had expected the crown to go to Fíli then, however he was less surprised and disappointed than he felt he should be when not only Fíli, but Kíli too refused to become king. They had seen what kingship entailed, and frankly, they weren't overly keen on the prospect of being bored to death so soon after narrowly surviving their very first major battle (those were their blunt words to their uncle anyway). He probably shouldn't have laughed, given the seriousness of the meeting, but he had despite some of the looks sent his way by a few of the stuffier dwarves in his council.

There was some confusion then, over who precisely the crown should go to. Quite a few dwarves were closely connected to the Durin name after all. In the end, it was decided that Dáin should be king of Erebor, given that he was Thorin's cousin and had fought valiantly in the Battle of the Five Armies.

Thorin had stayed long enough to see Dáin crowned and Fíli and Kíli settled in their new roles as scouts for the patrols before he left.

He'd had only one destination in mind.

Bilbo had returned to the Shire some months before Thorin's own departure, in order to settle some affairs there and visit relatives. It was to Bag End that the former king had intended to go.

Bilbo of course had scolded him as thoroughly as he'd scolded his nephews when he reached the Shire. A longwinded tirade about hard headed dwarves not planning things ahead, how they might have missed one another entirely had Bilbo already been returning to Erebor, how worried sick he'd been when the last raven had sent news of Thorin not being comfortable in his role as king and was considering abdication (the last update he'd received from Ori). The rant had finally devolved into: "If you still think you're a bad person because of what happened I might just have to throttle you with your own braids, you great lump" and so Thorin had shut him up with a kiss.

Maybe Bilbo had a point with the whole 'not planning things through' part. It hadn't exactly been the best thought out way of admitting his feelings, but it had all turned out alright in the end.

After quite a bit of bug-eyed stuttering, and apologies, and rambled explanations from both parties of course.

Thank goodness, the rest of the Company hadn't been there to see that.

"Well there's a simple test to see if the thing will still sprout," Bilbo rambled on as he grasped Thorin's wrist and led him back into Bag End. "I wouldn't be too hopeful though, seven years is a long time. You know I'd quite forgotten I even had this."

Thorin hadn't, he recalled that Bilbo had set it in a little oaken box atop the mantle with every intention of planting it once the snows had thawed… and then forgotten to.

"Why did you forget?" Thorin frowned, somewhat perplexed. When Bilbo had shown him that acorn during the throes of his dragon sickness, the sight of it had brought him back from the brink if even only a little, from that point on the inconspicuous little thing had been important to Thorin.

"To be honest," Bilbo hummed and huffed, blushing all the way to the tips of his ears as he bustled around the kitchen, filling a pot with water. "You arriving unexpectedly on my doorstep claiming you wanted to spend the rest of your days here with me was enough to distract me from almost anything. After I put the acorn away, I just sort of forgot about it." He shrugged, accepting it wasn't a very good explanation even to his own ears, but the admission caused Thorin to grin.

"Nice to know I'm that good of a distraction, I'll remind you of that next time you're ignoring me in favour of some dusty old elvish book."

"Oh, hush." More blushing from Bilbo, and a laugh from Thorin that he disguised as a cough so as not to antagonise the hobbit.

Thorin walked over to where Bilbo was standing at the sink and tilted his head in interest as he watched what Bilbo was doing over his shoulder. The pot was filled with water, and the hobbit had rather unceremoniously dropped the little acorn in it, lips pursed as he considered.

Whatever Bilbo was looking for, Thorin rather fervently hoped he'd see it. It was a little foolish, he supposed, to be so attached to something as seemingly inconsequential as an acorn, but somehow it seemed important that this little nut survive and go on to grow as tall and strong as the oak already atop Bag End.

"Well?"

As if spurred by the will of Thorin alone, the acorn slowly sunk to the bottom of the pot and Bilbo smiled.

"Good, it sunk. That means it has a kernel inside and it's not likely rotten. I'd say it's worth taking the time to plant it then."

He probably looked like an idiot, he knew this well, but Thorin grinned and darted foreword to press a quick kiss to Bilbo's cheek. "So, now what? You said not to 'chuck it in the ground', so what would the wonderful Master Baggins, best gardener in all the Shire suggest we do next."

Bilbo snorted in amusement and tugged one of Thorin's braids, shaking his head. "Firstly, you can stop trying to flatter me; Hamfast is a far better gardener than I am and you know it. Secondly, there are a couple of ways I remember my father saying you can plant an oak tree successfully; we just have to pick an option and hope this little one thrives with it." He finished with a smile, plucking the acorn out of the pot in order to examine it again.

At length, Bilbo explained the two ways he'd heard of successfully planting oaks. How one method involved soaking the acorn in a bowl of warm water overnight and then peeling off the casing to reveal the kernel within before planting it in a pot and placing it on a sunny ledge until it was big enough to be transferred to the garden. The other option insisted it was better to place the acorn somewhere sealed away and cool in a peat mixture for a month before potting.

"If worst comes to worst and it fails, we can always write Beorn a letter and ask if he'd be willing to send us a few more acorns." Bilbo finished gently pressing the acorn back into Thorin's hand.

"We won't need to," Thorin said, some of that old Durin belligerence starting push its way to the fore.

"Oh? And how pray, would the mighty Thorin Oakenshield be so sure of this?" Bilbo's voice held a teasing lilt to it and he grinned back at the dwarf as he shuffled from the kitchen in order to go find a good-sized pot and some soil in the garden.

Thorin followed him down the hallway, knowing his answer would be absurd at best. "This one's special, it won't fail us."

"Special?" Bilbo echoed, blinking up at him in confusion, "Thorin it's an _acorn_."

"It's special," Thorin, repeated; squirming a little both at Bilbo's curious expression, and at how foolish he sounded. Between the two of them, most were surprised to learn that Thorin was the more romantic one and Bilbo more practical. "This acorn- it- well it helped pull me back, just for a few moments. I was so close to- well I'm not sure what I was close to doing at that point, but you and this acorn, you brought me back. I just feel like I should repay some kindness to it… plant it and let it grow."

Bilbo didn't laugh, for which Thorin was glad. Instead, when Thorin looked up from his embarrassed study of the floor tiles, the hobbit had an oddly misty-eyed look about him that almost had Thorin reaching out to place a comforting hand on his shoulder. Thankfully it was not sadness in Bilbo's gaze but adoration, and Thorin suddenly found himself with an armful of hobbit as Bilbo hugged him tight, muttering a strangled and affectionate "You soppy old thing," into the fabric of his tunic.

Thorin chuckled, happy beyond measure that his meaning was understood and gently cupped Bilbo's jaw in one hand so he could tilt his head up in order to kiss him.

"Thank you for understanding," he murmured, lips still ghosting over Bilbo's as they parted.

"You're welcome…" and if Bilbo's voice was a little breathless, Thorin said nothing about it. Bilbo was quick to recover though, and flushed hotly as he began rambling (a habit he was prone to when flustered) once more about how best to plant the acorn, his tone more insistent now he realised just how important this was to his beloved. "-And we need to make sure it doesn't get over watered otherwise it will rot for sure, I've heard they like sunny spots so we can't plant it too near the other oak when it's ready, oh and for goodness sake do keep a look out for pests trying to nibble at it won't you. I'll help too naturally, but I've the rest of the garden to contend with so this little project will be your responsibility for the most part, Thorin- are you even listening to me?"

Thorin grinned, assenting with a sincere "Aye" before tugging Bilbo back into his arms for another kiss.

 

* * *

 

It is said that oak trees do not produce their first acorns until they have been growing for twenty years or more. On rare occasions, one will show signs of producing acorns at fifteen, but never had it been documented in an oak of only ten.

A decade older, and a little greyer, Bilbo lazed under the steadily reaching boughs of the oak tree that had once been an acorn from Beorn's garden. He puffed on his pipe contemplatively and tried not to let his gaze look too impressed as he appraised their tree. All about him were strewn the proof of this small miracle; acorns, and he idly poked at one on the ground as if to make certain it wasn't his mind playing tricks on him.

Unheard of… acorns at ten years. Maybe it was because the acorn came from Beorn's lands? Everything there seemed oversized and abundantly healthy… some kind of magic at work maybe.

He puffed on his pipe again and tried very hard to ignore the smug expression Thorin wore as he sat beside him.

"So… the book said oaks don't produce acorns until they're at least twenty."

"Yes."

"And ours is only ten, is it not, _ghivashel_?"

"Mhmm."

Thorin looked so much like a proud father it was hard to affect a look of calm indifference and not burst out laughing there and then… or pull him down for a kiss.

"I guess it could be that I'm just an amazing gardener, but I do recall that I told you this one was spec-"

"Oh stop bragging, you daft lump."

Thorin only laughed as the hobbit huffed good-naturedly and threw an acorn at him.


	2. B is for Blankets

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Blanket forts are the best protection from any fear at any age, don't you know?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'd just like to add I have no idea what kind of games they play in Middle Earth, but I recall at one point, Gandalf mentions chess (or a game like it), so I've taken some liberites here. The game mentioned is Hnefatafl. A sort of Germanic or Viking precursor to chess. I thought it might be something dwarves might play. And though the name would probably be different, it would likely be very similar in strategy, hence I used it here. Bilbo's a natural at it, of course!
> 
> Also, I don't wish to pretend to know from experience how people deal with Astraphobia (fear of storms), as I don't suffer from it myself. However, I imagine it might be similar to how I cope when I'm very anxious(?) that is; hiding away and comforting yourself, trying to block out all the sound and triggers. I hope I did it justice.
> 
> P.S. I've no idea if the folk in Middle Earth would celebrate things akin to Beltane, but I've taken some more artistic liberties here too and so yeah, they do! At least in my AU's they do.

Halimath had just begun in the second year of Thorin's move to the Shire when Thorin learnt one more new titbit of information about his new home: For all the lands were green and plentiful and the climate temperate, storms were not unheard of. 

Any land had storms, this much was true, but Thorin had discovered that the Shire's storms were usually quite mild things. Heavy rain occurred of course, but lightning was scarce and the thunder was usually the gently rolling and rumbling faraway kind that might startle rabbits back into their holes, but bothered little else. 

Not so on this day. 

The sky had been overcast, oppressive like a curtain of cold iron all day. Far off in the distance he had glimpsed bright flashes of light in the direction of Bree and had heard low, barely discernable growls of the thunder that would surely make its way to Hobbiton before afternoon tea was finished. 

The air felt close, almost crackling with energy, the kind of energy that made the hair on the back of one's neck stand on end. Thorin had little doubt that the thick mane of hair atop his head probably looked an unruly mess from the humidity earlier this morning. He tugged at the ponytail he'd haphazardly pulled it into, lips twisting into a wry smile as he did so (it was a mess indeed) and quickened his pace back along the path. 

If the storm was going to be as big as Primula Brandybuck had reported to him earlier, then there was little reason for him to stay at the forge any longer today. Nobody would be out braving such impending weather just for his services. No indeed, knowing hobbits as he did now, he surmised most of them would probably take shelter in their homes until the storm had passed. 

He fully intended to do the same. 

In Thorin's mind, it wouldn't be a day wasted. There was the kitchen table to mend (one of the legs hadn't been quite right since Fíli and Kíli had paid a visit and decided that dancing upon the table whilst drunk was a grand idea), and failing that he could always try and talk Bilbo into another game of Hnefatafl. The hobbit had thoroughly trounced him last time, and Thorin was determined to even the scoreboard at some point or other. 

He'd barely made it through the front door and removed his boots when he stopped short and tried to make sense of what he was seeing. 

The parlour, usually a fairly neat and tidy room, looked as if a whirlwind had passed through it (or possibly a troop of very untidy fauntlings). Furniture had been moved hither and thither, and the entire floor was rendered invisible thanks to the sheer multitude of blankets, quilts, pillows, cushions, and pouffes strewn about. Not just on the floor either, many of the blankets had been hung or ingeniously draped as if an elaborate tent were under construction. In amongst all the chaos, Thorin finally spied Bilbo; sleeves rolled up passed his elbows, waistcoat discarded, and wearing a very harried expression as he scrambled up onto a stool and stood on tip-toes in order to try and hang yet another blanket from the odd contraption he'd suspended from the ceiling. 

"Bilbo, just what in all of Arda are you doing?" Despite the general oddness of the situation, Thorin couldn't quite keep the amusement out of his voice. 

Clearly, his entrance had gone unnoticed because the sound of his voice startled Bilbo enough that he wobbled precariously on his chair and made the strangest squeaking noise, flailing for a moment before he regained his balance. "T-Thorin! You're home early. No work on today?" he looked him over for a moment before his gaze landed on the surcoat Thorin wore (the day had progressively become chillier and had warranted him wearing something over his thin shirt), and beckoned the dwarf over. "Give me that, won't you please? I need it." 

The harassed expression was back, and Thorin wordlessly handed the garment over with just a touch of concern starting to niggle at him. The worry for his hobbit's state of mind only increased when Bilbo bustled over to the window and hung the surcoat up there, like an impromptu curtain. 

"Bilbo- what are you… what is going on?" 

"Storm, big one at that… just making some preparations, hm."

If anything Bilbo's answer only confused Thorin further, and he watched with some trepidation as the hobbit scurried from the room and to the kitchen, wringing his hands all the while. 

"What preparations?" 

"Food. Plenty of it. Um, let's me see… some books, the hangings at the windows and-" a sudden rumble of thunder had Bilbo nearly jumping out of his skin, and Thorin was willing to wager it was only sheer force of will that kept him from darting back into the parlour and under a mound of blankets and cushions like some poor frightened mouse. 

Thorin sighed and tried to hide a smile as he realised what was wrong before approaching the hobbit to gently rest a hand on his shoulder. "The storm frightens you?" 

Bilbo fidgeted, attempted to shake his head, but quickly lowered it as if shamed instead and mumbled a quiet, "yes." 

"They've never bothered you before." 

"They have."

"But there were a few storms back in Afterlithe, and last year too. You were fine then… at least you seemed to be." 

"Um yes, quite. You see they were only small though… nothing- nothing like this one is going to be."

A flicker of understanding started to bloom within Thorin and he hummed in agreement before speaking again. "So, it's only the fiercer storms that frighten you?"

"Yes. Yes that's- that's precisely it." He sounded embarrassed again and this caused Thorin to frown, fear was not something one needed to feel ashamed of. 

"How long?" 

Bilbo finally turned his gaze from the floor to meet Thorin's in puzzlement for a moment before he realised what he was being asked. "Since I was a fauntling. It had faded… the fear I mean. It was bearable and I was able to carry on as normal when I reached my majority but, well… after the thunder battle in the Misty Mountains, I'm afraid it must have returned." 

Thorin frowned and felt an odd pull of guilt in his stomach. He knew Bilbo would scold him if he discovered he was blaming himself over 'something needless' again, but the dwarf couldn't help but feel partially responsible for the return of Bilbo's phobia. He'd been journeying with them and thus it had been triggered once more. 

Arms had wrapped around Bilbo before Thorin had even registered he'd moved, it was funny how affection came so easily between them that it was almost an automatic reflex nowadays. 

"It's not only the thunder battle though," Bilbo confessed, voice muffled by Thorin's shoulder, he was shivering slightly as more thunder sounded just a little closer. "The lightning reminds me of Smaug somehow… the flash of his fire I think, and the roar of it… it calls to mind that dreadful battle we fought too." 

"There's nothing to be ashamed of, you know." 

"Easy to say for you, Mister Fearless." Bilbo still had the heart to jest, though his voice was somewhat shaky, and Thorin could see his ears twitching in anticipation of any small sound of the storm. 

"Hardly fearless and you know it."

"Yes but Thorin, you fear only things that should be feared by anyone; war, your kin being slain, that sort of thing." 

"Fire." 

"Sorry?" 

"I fear fire." 

"You work in a forge! You're- you're around it all the time! If you fear it you make a good play of pretending otherwise." 

Thorin chuckled and nuzzled his nose briefly into Bilbo's curly hair before releasing him so he could walk over to the kitchen counter and collect the snacks Bilbo had obviously prepared for them. Arms full of food now, the dwarf headed back to the parlour, Bilbo just two steps behind; shoulders hunched in anticipation of more thunder. 

"Much like your fear, mine depends on the size of the fire," he continued. "A fire in a grate doesn't bother me one whit, a forge fire is perfectly fine but-… you recall the large bonfires they had down in the fields during the Beltane and Lithe festivals, yes?" 

Bilbo hummed a 'yes' and plucked a sweet roll from the tray Thorin held, nibbling on it distractedly. 

"Those terrified me." 

"Thorin, you were with me! Why didn't you say anything?" 

"Because everyone was enjoying themselves and I wanted to enjoy the festival with them," Thorin explained mildly. "I was scared though. Scared they may burn out of control and catch fire to a home or a tree; or maybe someone would get too close and hurt themselves… When those couples started jumping the smaller fires during Beltane, I think I was quite close to running all the way back to Bag End and locking myself away for a good day or two. I could barely watch."

Thorin tried to make light of it as he settled himself down onto one of the cushions and set out the treats Bilbo had prepared, but Bilbo could see the way he frowned and how his hands twitched minutely at the memory. He reached out to squeeze them reassuringly. "Fire reminds you of Smaug the way the lightning does for me?" 

"Yes… the sound, the smell, the heat of it. Any sizeable fire sends me into a dead panic, Bilbo. I've just learnt to hide the fear quite well given who I am and how long I've lived." He caught Bilbo's hand in his own and brought it up to his lips to kiss his knuckles briefly. "So, back to my original point; you've nothing to be ashamed of." 

Bilbo hummed and made no real reply to that, but he did pass Thorin a scone and the slow smile curling his lips spoke volumes. 

They sat in silence for a few minutes, eating and trying to ignore the steadily increasing roar of the thunder and the flashes of lightning that still managed to illuminate the window from behind the surcoat-come-curtain. 

Finally, Thorin couldn't contain his curiosity any longer and had to ask. "Why all the blankets and cushions though? I mean, I see the purpose behind stealing my surcoat and hanging up the blankets near the windows; to block out the lightning… but why the rest of it? It's like a very odd but rather homey nest." He finished with an admiring smile. 

Now that he'd had time to look at the structure more thoroughly, he could see it was more than just a mess of fabric. Bilbo had set the room up almost like a very cosy and rather pretty tent. Blankets and quilts hung like tapestries from the ceiling, bookcases, tables, anywhere even slightly elevated; more still were spread upon the floor. Pouffes, pillows, and cushions alike made for seating and soft walls stacked one on top of the other near the doorway. Bilbo had lit tiny lanterns (careful of course to keep them away from any of the fabric) and placed them strategically so that the whole room glowed with a warm and inviting light. And then there were the books; all light-hearted tales and silly poetry; board games (Hnefatafl amongst the selection Thorin noted), and the food. All of it was comforting, warming stuff; pastries, biscuits, scones, and sweet rolls, bowls of fruit, a loaf of bread, cheeses and popped corn. 

Bilbo coughed and flushed, a sure sign he was embarrassed again, and fiddled with the corner of one of the cushions before replying. "It's silly… really it is." 

Thorin wasn't going to let him off easily though, and merely smiled encouragingly, nudging him gently with his shoulder. 

"Oh, alright. I said I've feared large storms since I was a fauntling, yes? Well when I was very young, my father came up with this idea for me. One day a terrible storm broke over the Shire and I could barely move for fright. I think my mother was afraid I'd faint or have some kind of panicked fit to be quite honest. Anyway, my father left me with my mother where I was hiding in my bedroom… I remember she was holding me and telling me stories, hoping to distract me from it I think, and after a time he called us through to the parlour. He'd set up the parlour much like this; all the blankets and cushions and so on, and brought some of my favourite books in from the library too. He said it was a special 'blanket stronghold' and that no storm could ever reach me here. I believed him of course, being so young and all. And well… it seemed to work. I felt less scared when I was in here. After a while, it just became routine; if ever there was a particularly violent storm brewing; my father would build my blanket stronghold and the three of us would stay in here until it passed. 

"I gradually lost most of the fear of the storms and by the time I was into my tweens, I didn't need this anymore… Today though… well I just thought the memory of it might help." Bilbo finished with a self-depreciating grin and a shrug. 

Outside the window, the wind had picked up, and the first raindrops lashed against the glass with such sudden and startling ferocity that Bilbo yelped and dropped the apple he was holding. Thunder roared, all the more unexpected as they hadn't seen the lightning preceding it, and Bilbo managed to bite out an angry and slightly ironic "it's not bloody helping," through his clenched teeth and the tremors quaking his body.

Eyes screwed shut and hands clamped over sensitive ears, Bilbo didn't notice a thing until he was swept into Thorin's hold and looked up at him in surprise. It was a little difficult to do considering he was now in the dwarf's lap with his back pressed to Thorin's chest, and all he could see when he tilted his head back was the fall of Thorin's hair now free from its ponytail. "What are you doing?" 

"Helping, I hope." 

Bilbo noted that Thorin had picked up one of the blankets and thrown it over the two of them like a huge cloak, covering them completely. It was dark under the blanket, only the faint glow of the lanterns shone from beyond; and as Thorin manoeuvred them both into a more comfortable position, he began to hum quietly. 

"What are you doing now, you daft thing." Bilbo murmured, a helpless grin starting to pull at his lips despite the lingering fear roiling in his stomach.

"Well, it will be more difficult to see the lightning under here, and I was hoping if we talked or sang or something, it might distract from the noise of the thunder." 

"That sounds… that sounds like a nice idea actually." 

"Which would you prefer?" 

"Singing, if you please." 

Thorin snorted his amusement, he'd been half joking about that one, but if it would ease Bilbo's fear, he was willing to do almost anything. "Very well, which song?" 

"You remember the song you sang the night you all arrived here before the quest?" 

"Yes, but why that one specifically?" it was a slightly odd choice, rather sombre in Thorin's opinion; he'd presumed Bilbo would prefer something lighter.

"Because your voice was lovely enough to coax me into a completely mad adventure despite my fears about it. Maybe the same song will cure my fear of the storm and I'll go out dancing in the rain or something equally preposterous." 

Thorin couldn't help it, he laughed and hid his face in the crook of Bilbo's neck. "You're actually serious aren't you." 

"Very much so, I know it sounds absurd but… indulge me?" 

"I'm hardly likely to refuse." Thorin grinned and nuzzled his face against Bilbo's before tightening his hold on the hobbit and beginning to hum once more, quiet at first until he began to sing properly and Bilbo snuggled into his embrace with a smile. 

Bilbo didn't go to dance in the rain like he had rather jokingly suggested he might; but the song certainly did seem to hold a certain power over him, Thorin mused in delight as he looked down at Bilbo some minutes later.

It seemed the combined effects of blankets and a good song had calmed Bilbo enough to send him to sleep. 

Murmuring a goodnight and trying to make himself comfortable, Thorin loyally stayed curled around Bilbo in the nest of blankets until the storm passed.


	3. C is for Cuddles

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A picture this time. Unfortunately there’s a reason I haven’t drawn in well over a year, and this is it! I thought I’d try something other than fanfic for the entry to day, and now I rather wish I’d stuck to what I know and am somewhat decent at. The scanner killed it too, ugh. Anyway, here’s my entry for today. Back to fics tomorrow I think ;A;

 

_"Warmer now?"_

_"Yes, thank you."_


	4. D is for Dancing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I’m a lot happier with today’s entry! I was intending to draw a full body picture, but time got away from me, so another bust shot it is, apologies XD Maybe some day I’ll finish the full body picture.

 

_"Don't you dare drop me!"_

_"I wouldn't dream of it, amrâlimê."_

_"Foolish dwarf, you'll throw your back out, dancing like this."_

_"I am not that old, nor are you that heavy!"_


	5. E is for Eyes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> At Beorn's a hobbit and a dwarf king are pining, and Balin probably wants to knock their heads together.
> 
> In case anyone doesn't know; mûmakil is another word for oliphaunts.

It's not exactly fair, Bilbo muses, as he idly pushes food around his plate with his fork (something he's sure his father would have disapproved of) and finds himself glancing up yet again towards the leader of their Company. 

No, not fair at all. Not one bit. 

He heaves a sigh, a sound that gains the attention of a certain elderly dwarf who wears a knowing smile about his expression, and finally forgoes the pretence of eating in favour of fiddling listlessly with his mug. 

There's no escaping the fact of the matter; Thorin Oakenshield's eyes are just too damned distracting! 

At first, it hadn't been so bad. Of course, Bilbo had noticed the striking colour of them and the piercing gaze as far back as their fateful encounter in his own home. However, what with the notion of being burnt to a crisp by a dragon being thrown around, coupled with the dwarf king's dismissive rudeness; Bilbo hadn't exactly indulged his curiosity in properly admiring the dwarf's eyes. 

And admire them he did, now at least. They were unusual eyes for a dwarf, at least he presumed so given that none of the other Company members had eyes even close enough to compare. They were blue; such a vivid and remarkable shade of blue that it was a wonder anyone could concentrate on what the dwarf was saying when he spoke. 

Did the dwarves back in Ered Luin have as hard a time concentrating as Bilbo did? Is that why they'd agreed to let Thorin and his rag-tag band of followers go on this seeming suicide mission; they simply hadn't heard the plan properly due to being far too mesmerised by his eyes? 

Well… alright that was just silly. As far as he could tell nobody else in the Company was affected, just him. So why would any other dwarf be swooning about his eyes either? 

This led Bilbo's thoughts down the slightly worrying path as to _why_ he was so entranced by Thorin's eyes. Oh, he had a good idea of why he was, he just really didn't want to accept what the little voice inside his head was trying to tell him right now, thank you very much. Not when there was half the world to travel not to mention a dragon to face all laid out before them. No, there'd be no sense in thinking like that… 

But still… 

It would be nice, a traitorous little part of him insisted, if those eyes were directed towards him with something other than simple companionship expressed within them. 

Feeling thoroughly put out by this train of thought, Bilbo finally excused himself from the table and decided to make a quick escape, given that he could feel the heat rising to his cheeks already. It was only made worse when a particular pair of intense blue eyes looked after him questioningly.

Beorn's house was huge, or at least it was to Bilbo; he supposed that to Beorn it must be just the right size. Everything was oversized to the hobbit though, and just scrambling down from the kitchen table had been rather an embarrassing feat (he could have sworn he heard Gandalf chuckle, but when he'd aimed a glare at the wizard, the tall man had appeared to be in deep conversation with their host). 

Air; that's what he needed. He just needed some fresh air to clear his head and then he could stop daydreaming over dwarf kings and their ridiculously pretty eyes. 

No sooner had Bilbo stepped out onto the front porch and drawn in a good, clean lungful of air, did he find he had company. Suppressing a small grumble, the hobbit turned to find it was Balin who had decided to join him outside to enjoy the warm summer evening. 

"Nice night, wouldn't you say?" 

"Ah, yes, yes, quite." 

That smile was back, the one from before, and Bilbo tensed a little. 

Balin made a show of lighting his pipe and puffing on it in slow deliberation before he dared speak again. "The sky out here is lovely isn't it?" 

"Er, yes… yes it's very fine." 

"Mhmm, lovely shade of blue tonight," Balin continued, voice almost irritatingly casual.

Bilbo felt that wariness starting to grow and only nodded in reply, turning his gaze upwards in order to appraise the sky himself. Dusk had lent the sky a darker shade, the pinks and yellows of sunset already faded into hazy blue, and a midnight hue was encroaching along the eastern horizon. Stars were studded against the backdrop already; silver pinpoints of light which- 

"Would have thought you'd prefer a lighter shade though." 

Bilbo visibly jolted and swallowed thickly before he felt himself turn with face aghast towards the elder dwarf. "Y-you what- um, what are you talking about?" he tried for nonchalance, honestly he did; but the strangled, almost panicked quality of his voice was just too obvious not to notice. 

"Lad," Balin huffed a chuckle and patted Bilbo's back consolingly. "You're about as subtle as a herd of mûmakil." 

Bilbo's hands had fisted in the hem of his tattered waistcoat and he floundered for a few moments over how to reply; mouth opening and closing uselessly like a trout out of water. 

It was a few moments more, moments where Balin, bless him, remained politely silent until Bilbo had collected himself enough to utter a squeaky, "oh stars above! Am I really that obvious?" 

"Mm, obvious is probably the best word for it, aye." No consoling back pat this time, but Balin did hand over his pipe and Bilbo took a few reassuring puffs on it until he felt calmed enough to speak again. 

"Oh dear, please don't tell me the others noticed-" 

"Bilbo, you needn't worry about that. I've noticed, as have Dori, Glóin, Bombur, and Ori… I think Nori _might_ be suspicious, but it's not something he's exactly interested in unless it can make him a bit of money… but as to the others; not a one of them has picked up on your er… preoccupation with our king." 

"And… and what about Thorin?" 

Balin's smile was highly amused and he shook his head as he answered. "I love that lad as if he were more a son than a cousin you know… but I have to admit, in these matters he's as dense as stone. Not to worry yourself, Master Baggins, Thorin's perfectly in the dark about all this." 

"Oh thank goodness!" Bilbo's relief was almost tangible as he gusted out a huge sigh and let tense shoulders drop into a more relaxed state. 

"So… what do you plan to do about this?" The question was asked carefully, and so full of fatherly concern that Bilbo had half a mind to throw his arms around the dwarf in a grateful hug. He had expected to muddle through this… this whatever it was alone, to suddenly have a willing ear was unexpected, but not exactly unwelcome. 

"Nothing, Balin. I'm not going to do anything. I don't think it would end well if I did." There was a tinge of disappointment in his voice that he couldn't quite dispel, but the general emphatic finality in his answer was not lost on the dwarf. 

"Lad," Balin's voice was consoling and a hand had rested upon Bilbo's shoulder at some point or other. "You'd have our blessing, the lot of us, if you did decide to tell him." 

"It's not- it's not that. I know very well you'd all be accepting of it. It's just… well we are on a dangerous quest, and I _do_ have the distinct impression I might very well end up as a dragon's snack at the end of it all. So… well anything I said or did wouldn't be very kind to either of us in the end now, would it?" He'd tried to make his possible demise sound as light-hearted as possible, but it fell rather flat in the face of how much truth there may be to it. 

"Well, I can't very well argue with that… but I don't think things will end as grim as you seem to think." Balin hummed contemplatively, finishing his pipe and tapping out the embers. "Think on it though, won't you Bilbo? The both of you deserve happiness." 

Bilbo answered with a non-committal little sound, but it seemed to satisfy Balin who smiled broadly as he went to turn back into Beorn's house, only to pause at the doorway and ask curiously over his shoulder, "how long?" 

Bilbo groaned and buried his head in his hands; cheeks flushing once more a he reluctantly mumbled his reply. "Since the Carrock… well I mean there was _something_ there before that, admiration… infatuation maybe… but he was so bloody rude and pig-headed I didn't even think on it." 

Balin laughed aloud at that and went to open the door, only to have someone on the other side open it first. Thorin. 

Oh bugger it! 

Please say he didn't hear any of that, please please please. 

Bilbo's mantra was so fervent that he didn't notice Balin had gone back inside until the door clicked shut and it was just he and Thorin stood together on the porch. That crafty old traitor! 

"Good evening" was murmured by Bilbo at the exact same time Thorin uttered a quiet "Are you unwell, Master Baggins?" 

They lapsed into awkward silence for a moment before Bilbo cleared his throat and asked, "What makes you think I'm unwell?"

"You left the house in rather a hurry; I was concerned that perhaps you weren't feeling well." 

"Oh, no no, I'm perfectly alright, Thorin. Just well, I think I ate a bit too much too quickly and needed a little fresh air. I'm afraid I've become accustomed to less food than I'd normally eat of late and I rather overdid it I expect." 

"Ah," Thorin looked oddly guilty at that and gazed out pensively at the night sky for a few moments before continuing. "I am sorry that you've had to endure so little food and so many hardships thus far." 

"Oh, now see here. We're not going back to the whole 'useless little hobbit' thing are we? Because-"

"No! No, not at all… and I've never- I've never said that have I?" 

"Well not in so many words but-" 

"I'm sorry, I am heartily sorry that I ever made you feel unwelcome or - or well-"

"Thorin, enough… it's fine. I'm sorry I brought it up again, it's all water under the bridge as they say. We can start over as it were." A small, silly little smile was starting to curl at Bilbo's lips, and he was very surprised when Thorin turned the weight of his gaze on him to return the expression. 

"I'd like that. You are as much as member of this Company as any of the others. From now on I swear to treat you as such." 

Definitely not fair! 

Why was he allowed to look like that!? With the- with the hair and the smile and those eyes! Those blasted eyes were all warm now. A deep dark blue under the starry night sky and for goodness sake why could he not concentrate like a normal hobbit should when Thorin was smiling and his eyes were all soft like that?

"I- um, thank you. It means a lot to hear you say that, it honestly does."

Lovely… a completely pathetic and belated answer was the best he could dredge up. Wonderful.

Clearly Thorin thought so too because he'd moved closer and… oh bother it, he was actually cupping Bilbo's cheek so he could look at his face closely. "Are you _sure_ you're not sick?"

Now Thorin's eyes were concerned and roaming over his face and curse it, he was going to throttle Balin for abandoning him like this!

"Fine," the squeak of his voice sounded absurd, but that he'd managed to reply at all instead of either fainting or dragging Thorin closer for a very ill thought out kiss was quite commendable in his opinion. "Absolutely fine, I swear. I just- I needed to- um Ori wanted some help with a bit of -of sewing, so I'd best go back inside and help Dori, I mean Ori, with the thing, yes hm."

"Ah, of course…" Thorin stepped back and Bilbo could breathe again, face aflame but blessedly still on his own two feet and not swooning like a fool. The hobbit had just turned to go back inside when Thorin spoke once more. "By the way, what was it that you were speaking about with Balin? If you don't mind my asking."

"Oh, nothing in particular, just admiring eyes-the sky um yes. We were just admiring the sky."

"I see, well best of luck with your sewing." Thorin nodded, looking a little disappointed somehow, but Bilbo didn't think much on it as he finally scurried back indoors.

Beyond the door, Thorin sighed, trying not to look too longingly at where Bilbo had just been standing not a few moments before. It was utterly ridiculous of course, to pine over him not staying outside to chat. He doubted Bilbo particularly enjoyed his company given his treatment of him before the events atop the Carrock.

Thorin couldn't deny though, he really did want the hobbit to be more comfortable in his presence. But more than that he wanted-

Running a hand absent-mindedly through his hair, Thorin tried to push aside the thoughts which had been plaguing him for the last few days now… or perhaps longer, if he were to be honest with himself. Thoughts of Bilbo's smile and quick wit, endearing expressions when he was flustered or annoyed, and his eyes…

It's not exactly fair, Thorin muses, that Bilbo has such lovely and distracting eyes.


	6. F is for Flower Crowns (and Frodo)

He should have been suspicious the moment his smial fell completely silent really. These days such silence never boded well.

Before the arrival of Gandalf and the dwarves, before the quest and the dragon and everything else, peace and quiet would have been the norm in Bag End. Now though, now peace and quiet could only mean one of two things: either the place was empty, or there was mischievous plotting afoot (usually in the guise of two younger dwarves and a small hobbit child).

Heaving a sigh as he set aside his quill and rubbed his temples, Bilbo decided he had best go and find out which of the two it was.

The last four weeks had been utter chaos, but it was the kind of chaos that Bilbo privately relished these days. Fíli and Kíli had arrived from Erebor to visit their uncle along with Balin, Dwalin, Ori, and Dís in tow. This had made Bag End lively enough, but then Primula and Drogo had turned up in something of a tizzy in order to ask Bilbo if he'd be willing to look after little Frodo for a couple of weeks whilst they visited a sick relative. They claimed that as well behaved as Frodo was, a young fauntling would only be underfoot and at risk from contracting whatever sickness had taken hold of Prim's sister and so it was best he stay well away.

Of course, Bilbo was happy to agree, but he still sent a token glower towards the rest of his company when they'd enthusiastically answered for him (a good deal of them had been eavesdropping in the hallway… really, no manners at all). This _was_ his home after all, not theirs… well perhaps it was partly Thorin's now too, but still it was the principle of the thing.

It was all sorted quickly enough though, and in no time at all Frodo had been ushered into Bag End with some clothes and toys for the visit and then Primula and Drogo had been on their way.

It was rather amusing how quickly everyone had settled in, Bilbo thought to himself as he stood from his desk and wandered from this room to that in search of the gaggle of friends and relatives who had made themselves right at home.

Surprisingly, it seemed as if mischief wasn't the reason for the silence today. As far as he could tell, Bag End was completely deserted save for himself. He must have been very distracted by his writing then, not to have heard them all leave-

Well not quite all, he'd found Dís. Thorin's sister was currently in the spare room he used as a library. Curled up in a plush armchair with eyeglasses perched upon her nose, Dís was thoroughly engrossed in one of Bilbo's elvish history books. Sensing his presence, she glanced up from her page and placed a sly finger to her lips. "Not a word from you about my choice of reading material, I'm reading about this for Kíli's sake, not for my own amusement."

Bilbo could barely contain his laughter; the grin the dwarrowdam wore was far too bright for him to believe her statement. "Oh, is that so? And where, may I ask, is Kíli… and all the others at that."

"You really weren't listening to a one of us whilst you were writing were you? And you say hobbits have the finest manners, for shame, Bilbo."

Bilbo had the good grace to flush at the light-hearted reprimand, and Dís snickered quietly before marking her place in her book and ticking off her fingers one by one, as she answered Bilbo's question. "Balin and Dwalin have gone down to the marketplace; Balin noticed we were running woefully low on both sweet treats and ale, so they've both gone to do a little shopping. Ori headed off some time ago so he could go visit that Mathom House again; I think he's making a sort of study of it to add to his book. As for my trouble making sons I believe they've gone to 'help' in the fields. I somehow get the feeling it will be less like help and more like they're just looking for a chance to get their hands on some free food and drink. As for Thorin and Frodo," here she paused and frowned slightly before shrugging. "I really don't know where those two have disappeared to. I'm sure Frodo will keep Thorin out of trouble though."

"Oh, I don't doubt that. However, Thorin really does have the most remarkable ability to get himself turned around when he goes for a walk, and as well behaved a fauntling as Frodo is; his sense of direction really isn't any better. I think I'd best go and find them before they wind up in Bree," and noting the time he added "or miss luncheon entirely."

Dís laughed and waved Bilbo off as she returned to her book, and Bilbo shuffled out of the library and down the hallway to the front door.

It hadn't taken long to find the pair at all. In fact, they were only atop Bag End itself, under the oak tree that grew there.

When Bilbo came upon them it was to find Frodo standing over the sprawled figure of Thorin, small hands fisted on his hips and a very petulant sort of pout twisting his lips.

It was easy to see why, Bilbo thought whilst hiding a smile; Frodo's playmate had fallen asleep in the warm sunshine, a terrible crime if ever there was one.

"Not much fun, is he?" Bilbo whispered jokingly by way of greeting as he approached his nephew-cousin.

"We were playing hide and seek," Frodo huffed very quietly, frowning up at Bilbo, "but he was taking _ages_ to find me, so I went to check and he'd gone and fallen asleep!"

Bilbo _tsked_ sympathetically and sat down beside Frodo when the youngster flopped onto the grass in resignation. "So now you're bored, hm?" it was more statement than question, but Frodo nodded emphatically all the same, small fingers plucking at blades of grass aimlessly.

Humming in contemplation, Bilbo looked around for something nearby that might hold Frodo's attention until Thorin awoke (after all, if he took Frodo elsewhere, the dwarf would only sulk when he woke up to find his company had been replaced).

Inspiration struck in the form of a smattering of wildflowers growing not too far away, and Bilbo grinned as he pointed them out to his young relative. "Has your mother or father taught you to make flower crowns yet?"

"Mama's been trying," Frodo replied, wrinkling his nose uncertainly, "but I just can't seem to get the trick of it."

"Well, why don't we try now? I'm sure you'll pick it up quicker than you think, and then you can surprise your mother the next time she tries to teach you."

A slow, uncertain grin bloomed on Frodo's face as he considered it, and then he was nodding, bouncing to his feet with all the boundless energy someone so young could contain. Scurrying over to the wildflowers, Frodo made short work of gathering the lot up into his arms and sitting back down beside Bilbo, eager to learn how to make a decent flower crown.

Lunch was entirely forgotten, as is often the way with excited youngsters, the task at hand was just far too important to forego in favour of something as mundane as eating. Bilbo resigned himself to the lost meal as well, and forged on with single-minded determination; he would teach young Frodo how to weave a flower crown even if he had to miss afternoon tea as well.

Still, it wasn't the worst way to spend an afternoon even without food, Bilbo decided. The sky was bright and clear, sun warm, and the birds singing made for a pleasant atmosphere as Frodo hummed along with their disjointed tunes. Right here and now, with Thorin close by and Frodo looking so happy, Bilbo thought he probably couldn't feel more contented if he tried.

It took time, indeed many of the wildflowers were discarded as they became too mangled for use in inexperienced hands. After another hour though, Frodo's attempts began to look less of a disaster, and something more like a crown.

"How's this one?"

Yet another woven effort was thrust before Bilbo's eyes, and his pleased nod elicited a beaming gap-toothed grin from the younger hobbit. "Very good, Frodo. How about adding a few daisies to the next one? They're fiddlier; let's see how good you really are."

The spirited fauntling took up the challenge with gusto, and with tongue caught between his teeth; he began to weave yet another intricate coronet, hoping to best his last.

The entire time, Thorin slept on obliviously.

After another half hour, Bilbo and Frodo were fairly surrounded by flower crowns of all kinds, each varying from half-made and abandoned messes, to perfectly executed and quite artistic.

Finishing his own final attempt, Bilbo nodded to himself in satisfaction before his eyes wandered unbidden to the sleeping form of his dwarf. Somehow, Thorin had slept through it all.

A mischievous glint in his eye, Bilbo winked at Frodo before crawling over to Thorin and placing his latest creation on top of his head. It did suit him quite well after all, tiny blue forget-me-nots mingled with bluebells and the odd cornflower, interspaced with other flora to make up the bulk of the crown. The overall blue theme was pleasing to the eye, and as a 'Durin' colour, it seemed made for the former king who lay there snoring peacefully.

Truly, the dwarf was a remarkably heavy sleeper when he wasn't on the road and fearing for his own life or that of his kin.

Turning to face the young fauntling, Bilbo found that Frodo had his hands clamped over his mouth to suppress the giggles that seemed to want to eek out of him.

"Can I give him one too?" he managed to gasp out quietly between wheezy little snatches of quiet laughter.

"Of course, m'boy."

Frodo nearly tripped over his own feet in order to hurry to Thorin's side and place his own, slightly misshapen, predominantly red flower crown on top of Bilbo's own.

"Very fine indeed," Bilbo started before a wicked grin usurped his lips. "Though now his poor beard and braids look very bare, wouldn't you agree?"

Catching on quickly, Frodo stifled another hoot of laughter, and scooped up a couple of handfuls of the remaining flowers. Settling himself once more beside Bilbo, the pair wore identical grins as they began threading the flowers into Thorin's hair, braids, and beard with nimble fingers.

"I can't believe he's still asleep," Frodo murmured a few minutes later, half admiring, half exasperated.

"Well he is very old after all," Bilbo started slyly, for if the flicker of Thorin's eyelids was anything to go by, then the dwarf was certainly not asleep any longer, and likely hadn't been since the first flower was placed in his braid. Years of survival instincts couldn’t just be turned off after all.

Bilbo's smile turned warm, and his fingers gave Thorin's hair a light tug as he watched the dwarf open one eye to gaze up at him blearily. "I'm not as old as you seem to be implying, _ghivashel_."

The grumbled reply from the dwarf had Frodo squealing a delighted, "you're awake!"

"Aye that I am." Thorin pushed himself up awkwardly, resting on one elbow before reaching over to ruffle Frodo's hair affectionately. "My apologies to you, young Master Baggins. The last I recall I was supposed to be counting whilst you hid, and then I fell asleep."

"It's alright," Frodo assured him, "we made flower crowns instead."

"That I can see," Thorin mumbled, a fond grin crinkling the corners of his eyes as he tugged a braid forward to admire it. "You know, I think we should do the same to Dwalin, have him start a new fashion trend back in Erebor."

Frodo beamed, immediately taking the joke to heart as a good idea, and began rambling about what flowers would best suit the warrior and Thorin didn't have it in him to dissuade the boy, he'd just have to face the backlash when all his fellow dwarves were coerced into wearing flowers.


	7. G is for Gold

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thorin still fears the sickness and gold by extension. Bilbo wants to help him get over that fear.

After the dragon sickness had passed, Thorin had sworn never to touch a speck of gold for as long as he lived; such was the strength of the shame and fear he felt. Should that vile malady seize control of his mind once more, he might fall deeper a second time and not be able to stop the evil machinations of his own thoughts.

Upon abdicating the throne and returning to the Shire with Bilbo, his vow had been easier to uphold. After all, what use has such a place as this for the grand wealth of a kingdom? He would be far less likely to fall prey to his weakness in surroundings where farmers tools held more worth than coins or jewellery.

He felt he'd done a good job of it too, avoiding the gold. Until he'd had to explain his rationale to Bilbo after a slightly embarrassing encounter with one of Bilbo's cousins.

Lobelia Sackville-Baggins had been loathe to call upon Thorin's aid due to the sheer principle that he was involved with Bilbo; however petty pride was outweighed by the upset she'd felt over her favourite necklace breaking. Worse still, the jewelsmith she usually relied upon in Michel Delving was on a business trip to procure new materials and would not be back until the next month at least.

It was a length of time that was not to be borne by the fussy woman, and so she had grudgingly sought the expertise of Bilbo's dwarf in mending her finest necklace. It had been a wedding present, a lovely thing (at least in her opinion), made from the best gold money could buy. That same quality had led to the breakage it seemed; for the gold was softer than most trinkets one would find about the Shire, and so it could not stand up to the formidable tug it had received at the pudgy hands of a very young relative.

Lobelia, had of course heard that Bilbo's dwarf was a fair hand with any craft, from blacksmithing to making toys, she only hoped that the praise had not been bestowed upon him lightly and that he could successfully fix her necklace.

Imagine her surprise then, when she had been turned away at the door of the little forge he'd set up not too far from Bag End.

At first she had seethed and suspected it was all Bilbo's doing; he'd likely heard of her plight and would think it a fine joke to have the dwarf turn her away out of spite. Thus, of course, in true Sackville-Baggins fashion; she'd gone marching back up to Bag End in order to quarrel with her cousin.

Bilbo, to his credit, had been as polite as was possible when being nagged at by a particularly bothersome relation. He had insisted that he couldn't fathom why Thorin would turn away a customer, and that no, he'd certainly never told him to do so.

After hearing the shrill voice of his cousin harp on for a few minutes more, Bilbo had held up a hand to stop her in her tracks and bid she hand the necklace over.

"He's probably just busy with other work at the moment, leave it here and I'll ask him to fix it as soon as possible."

Lobelia had looked mulishly suspicious, muttering something about them trying to rob her blind. A well-placed glare from Bilbo had shut her up though, and in the face of having no other option, she'd reluctantly left the necklace with him.

 

* * *

 

"So, you turned away Lobelia today?"

"Aye… you er heard about that?"

"My dear, half of Hobbiton heard about it the way she was squawking at me on the doorstep earlier," Bilbo stated, his voice very dry.

"I meant no offence by refusing her…"

"I'm sure you didn't, but she's got a bee in her bonnet about that ugly looking thing and wants it fixed. She's left it here so you can-"

"No," had it not been the panicked, cracked quality of Thorin's reply, Bilbo may have assumed the dwarf was just being obstinate.

"Thorin, what in the world is wrong? If you're concerned about being out of practice with jewellery you needn't worry; you couldn't possibly make that piece look any worse even if you tried."

"It's _gold_ , Bilbo. I can't have it near me, I-"

"Bother it… oh Thorin, I'm so sorry- I didn't even think… the sickness? It reminds you-"

"More than that," Thorin had slumped into the armchair by the fireplace and buried his face in his hands, propping his elbows on his knees to try to keep the shivers from racing down his spine. "It's not so much the reminder as it is the fear."

"Thorin, Thorin you beat it, you're not sick now." Thorin felt Bilbo draw close, and peeked through the gaps in his fingers to see that the hobbit and knelt before him, gentle hands encircling his wrists to pull them away from his face. "You're perfectly alright."

"You, nor I, can know that for sure."

"But you've dealt with gold since you arrived here, surely. The coins alone-"

"Are less in purity than anything to have ever come from Erebor. Shire coins have very little gold in 'em, Bilbo. I needn't fear them, though I still dislike dealing with them."

"Why didn't you tell me? I could have helped," Bilbo's voice wasn't so much reproachful as it was confused and the tone of it almost made Thorin smile… almost. His dearest one, so understanding…

"It wasn't your burden to bear, Bilbo."

"Oh, that's a load of balderdash and you know it," Bilbo huffed and leaned in to peck a placating kiss to Thorin's frowning lips. "This would _never_ be yours to bear alone, Thorin. I'd help and that's that. If I thought for even a moment the sickness was taking hold again, I'd tell you. Besides, you've experienced it once before, you'd recognise the symptoms within yourself now I'd imagine."

"Perhaps," Thorin's voice was still uncertain, but at least he was looking at Bilbo properly now, and the tremors had stopped shaking his limbs. "I fear it still though. Bilbo, if it did take hold again and I hurt someone-"

"You won't. I swear you won't. You are far stronger in will than you give yourself credit for, dear heart."

Thorin snorted, the sound a little disbelieving, but an unsure smile twitched at his lips. "You have far too much faith in me."

"No, you just have far too little in yourself. We can sort that one out too whilst we're at it."

Thorin almost asked 'at what' but lacked the courage to find out just what his hobbit was plotting at the moment, instead he asked with just a little wry humour, "Are you planning to fix me then?"

"No, because you don't need fixing, you great dolt," Bilbo chuckled and pressed his forehead to Thorin's affectionately. "Besides, if there were any fixing needed, you'd be more than capable to do it yourself. I'm just here to lend some support."

 

* * *

 

Bilbo's plan apparently involved something healers had named 'exposure therapy', whereby Thorin would ultimately face his fear of dealing with gold, by actually handling it.

He'd been sceptical at first, and more than a little wary; but Bilbo insisted the letter he'd received from Gandalf assured him it was something that worked.

Thorin wasn't as fond of the wizard as Bilbo was, and he certainly held no real affection for Elrond (from whom more advice had been procured), but he'd trust Bilbo with his life, and if the hobbit said this would work, he'd certainly try.

He'd been told this type of healing could take some time, and so it was rather abashedly that they'd told Lobelia that Thorin had been unable to mend her necklace and that she'd have to find another jewelsmith. It had been difficult not to grind his teeth as Bilbo's prickly cousin had sniffed with disdain and claimed she should have known that a _mere dwarf smith_ would have failed to fix her beautiful necklace and then flounced off.

Now more than ever he was determined to beat his lingering fear of the gold, if only to some day put Lobelia firmly in her place over what a _mere dwarf smith_ could do.

 

* * *

 

They started small; coins were the first, given their low gold content in the Shire, before they slowly moved on to the coins from the troll hoard.

Day by day, week by week, Thorin forced himself to push aside the revulsion he felt upon the sight and touch of gold. And slowly, very slowly, the fear started to abate. The looming dread of some unseen spectre snapping at his heels and ensnaring his mind lessened. The memories dredged up from his time held under the sway of the dragon's curse became more distant.

He waited, still he waited for that cloying sense of possessive want to steal over him, to wake up one day to find he'd hoarded precious gold and gems in a foul trance and killed those he held most dear, but it did not come.

It wasn't until a trip to Bree that he knew for sure that the sickness was well and truly gone.

Thorin had travelled to the town in hopes of purchasing some materials to use in his forge. He'd heard that dwarven merchants were passing through the town fairly regularly these days, and so his assumption was that there would be a more diverse range of things to choose from.

It was amongst the stalls and shops of the town that he spotted something that caught his eye. A merchant from the north was showing off a new creation; a mixture of gold and copper she was selling in small ingots. Thorin had to admit that the overall effect was attractive, the addition of copper leant the gold a rosy hue, and somehow his mind immediately wandered to Bilbo upon seeing it.

It was warm and rather lovely, just like him.

Thorin had purchased a small ingot of the stuff so quickly he'd almost been sent into a panic once he realised what he'd done.

Mahal… the sickness… it couldn't be, could it?

He remembered his lessons, the advice Bilbo (via Elrond) had given him; deep breathing, clearing the mind, concentrating on himself and nothing else around him; the roiling fear eased.

He held the gold in his hand, but he did not clutch at it. If someone were to snatch it from him he'd be angry at the loss, yes; but then so would anyone considering the price he'd paid for it… but it wouldn't be _that_ anger… the all consuming raging inferno he'd experienced in his chest in Erebor.

Did he want to possess it? No, no not at all. In fact his only thought had been of Bilbo whilst purchasing it, not of himself.

Thorin nearly laughed his relief. In all his time in Erebor, save for the idiotic attempt at a courtship gift; he had not thought of another person when in the confines of the hoard. It had always been himself, always for himself.

Perhaps Bilbo was the extenuating circumstance a small, doubting voice whispered in the back of his mind… No… no. He knew that was not the case. This time there was no paranoia, no suspicion of his kin or anyone else around him. If Kíli had approached Thorin this very instant and asked him for the ingot so he could craft something for Tauriel, Thorin would willingly give it to him. During the sickness, this would not have been the case.

Fears banished, Thorin pocketed the ingot and began the trek back to Hobbiton without further delay; the forge materials could wait. Thorin's thoughts on Kíli had given him an idea, and Thorin felt that long dormant desire to craft something other than tools or weapons once more.

Thorin did mention his purchase to Bilbo in passing, but did not reveal what he intended to do with the ingot of gold. Bilbo was delighted all the same, throwing his arms around Thorin and kissing him soundly, "I knew you would succeed in this."

Thorin felt as if he were floating, and the light from the fireplace dancing in Bilbo's curls and making them shine only made him more certain of his purchase and his plan.

 

* * *

 

Bilbo hadn't actually been wrong when he'd jokingly suggested Thorin was out of practice in jewellery crafting. Thorin spent far more time muttering to himself and glowering at the gold in reprimand than he would have liked. Still, it was a joyous thing to see his hard work slowly revealing what he'd envisioned when he'd first caught sight of the ingot.

Two weeks later, Thorin declared his work complete.

He hadn't planned any grandiose way of presenting his creations to Bilbo, instead he'd simply set aside a small box addressed to Bilbo on his study desk with the items inside for him to find.

Thorin had to bite his lower lip to prevent himself from laughing in a self satisfied way as he washed dishes after lunch and heard a yelp and delighted gasp from the study.

"You," the hobbit rushed through to the kitchen, wagging an accusing finger at the dwarf, but looking so utterly overwhelmed and happy that Thorin wasn't worried for a moment.

"Whatever's the matter with you, Bilbo?"

"Oh you know very well what the matter is," Bilbo grumbled with no real heat and dragged Thorin away from the dishes in order to kiss him soundly.

They parted and Bilbo shook his head in amusement, turning to pick up the box from where he'd set it down on the kitchen table and admiring the contents openly.

Thorin grinned what he assumed was a very idiotic looking grin and wrapped his arms around the hobbit's waist to look over his shoulder at the gift he'd given him.

From the ingot of rose gold, Thorin had crafted a braid bead and a wedding band, both delicately engraved with tiny flowers and oak leaves. With the remaining gold he'd also fashioned an ear cuff similar to his own (he'd seen Bilbo admiring it on occasion, but if the hobbit did not want to wear that he wouldn't feel the least bit offended).

"This is- um… this is what I think it is, isn't it? I'm not misreading otherwise it might be a little embarrassing," Bilbo babbled.

"If you're asking if these are gifts stating that I wish to marry you, the answer to that is yes," The words came out easy enough, but Thorin felt it was probably a good thing Bilbo couldn't see his face from this angle, because he was likely a ludicrous shade of red by now.

The small squeak Bilbo uttered was rather endearing, and when he spoke Thorin was shocked to hear the sheer thickness of emotion in his voice, accompanied by a few sniffles. "Then my answer is yes, of course. Only if you don't mind marrying a very silly, overemotional hobbit."

Thorin grinned, nuzzling his face into the back of Bilbo's neck. "Well you're marrying a slightly mad former king… I rather think I've got the better end of the deal here."

"Not mad at all, and far too sweet for your own good."

"If I'm not mad then you're not silly."

Bilbo laughed, picking the ring out of the box to admire more closely. "You're going to have to show me how you did this; I'd really like to return the favour with your ring."

Thorin felt his grin widen as he turned Bilbo in his embrace to kiss him properly. Somehow, the idea of being around gold for that purpose only filled him with a sense of peace and happiness, there was no fear anymore.


	8. H is for Home

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Just a short one today, hope i didn't make it TOO sappy XD (is there even such a thing as too sappy?)

For as long as Thorin could remember. He had always held in his heart such surety on the definition of home. 

Home to him was the murmur of voices night and day; uplifted in song or else talking of trade. It was great seams of gold running through rock, vast halls filled with warm light from the forges. Home was being able to walk confidently in the pitch black of night and knowing for certain where he was going. 

To Thorin, home was ancient carvings of legends passed, mines filled with precious gems, close family and kin always nearby, the chill bite of winter's air and the smell of rain on stone. 

It was the heartbeat of life in a mountain made by the accumulation of many beloved folk in one vast place. Home to Thorin had and always would be Erebor. 

'Always' had changed the day Smaug came, and Thorin found that his peaceful sense of security, his very knowledge of home was shattered that day. 

Thorin _hated_ Ered Luin. For all it was a place of shelter, a place that had given the displaced dwarves of Erebor hope and a certain grounding sense of belonging again, it was not home to him; it could never be home. Even when Fíli and Kíli were born there and relatives of his buried there, Thorin could not call it home. 

And then the quest unfolded, and Bilbo Baggins joined them, and Thorin found himself resenting the hobbit. The soft little creature who complained about his lack of creature comforts at every turn, who bemoaned a mere temporary parting from his beloved Bag End, Thorin could barely stand it. 

It was only after the Goblin Tunnels and Bilbo's speech regarding home and where he and the dwarves each belonged, that something within Thorin started to wonder if he had been wrong all along. 

The weeks continued their march on towards Durin's Day, and Thorin started to find contentment in warm eyes and bright smiles, comfort in honey curls and quick wit and laughter. Thorin found something blooming in his heart and a realisation settling in his stomach, and it terrified him and pulled him in all at once. 

Erebor was not the home he remembered. Cold and lifeless, forges lit only through wrathful dragon flame held none of the warmth from his youth. The smells were wrong; the feel of the stone wrong, he felt lost within his own walls and only the gold was a comfort. 

The sickness came. He beat it but not before shaming himself most horribly, the battle raged and Thorin came to himself almost too late, and then knew no more. 

It was waking to a worried face looking down at him and familiar soft curls tickling his face as relieved lips were pressed to his that sent peace rushing through Thorin's heart for the first time in what seemed an age. 

Wounds were healed, grievances cast aside, and forgiveness given to and from all parties involved… but Erebor was still not home, not anymore. 

He'd confessed as much to the wonderment and delight of the hobbit who assured him he felt the same. To Thorin, home was no longer a place, but a person. 

Home to him now was the murmur of loving words from smiling lips. It was honey gold curls and warm expressive eyes, a nose scrunched up and laughter muffled by a kiss. Home was being able to walk a small hamlet a dozen times or more and still managing to feel hopelessly lost and loving every moment so long as his hand was in Bilbo's. 

To Thorin, home was silly songs and poems and stories, precious moments shared together, close family and kin not necessarily nearby anymore, but forever visiting and in contact. Home was the warm summer sun and the smell of rain on earth and flowers. 

It was the heartbeat of life in both their chests as they lay together, and home was in the vivacity of their silly extended family. Home to Thorin was now with Bilbo and home to Bilbo was most assuredly with Thorin.


	9. I is for Illness

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bilbo is sick, Thorin does his best to dote on the hobbit.

Thorin had seen Bilbo sick before in Laketown, so this was not a new occurrence to him. However, it was new in the context that Óin was not on hand to dispense a healer's wisdom and good common sense and so Thorin was understandably a little worried, despite Bilbo's mumbled reassurances. 

"Thorin, I'm fine honestly. I just need rest; it's only a cold after all." 

'Only a cold' it may be, but dwarves were hardy creatures who rarely fell ill in such a way. It was only natural that seeing Bilbo unwell should cause him to fret. 

Like an overprotective mother, Thorin found himself following Bilbo from this room to that as the hobbit _tried_ to go about his usual daily tasks. He probably would have performed them more successfully had he not had a fidgety shadow mumbling in concern after his every cough and sneeze and raspy voiced complaint. 

"Thorin," Bilbo frowned, voice cracked and nose snuffly. "I have a cold, not some deadly plague or grievous wound. You don't need to hover so." 

"You said you needed rest, yet you are not taking any. You'll forgive me then for worrying over your health since you seem not to." 

Bilbo rolled his eyes at the grumpy tone in Thorin's voice, but found himself oddly endeared all the same. He was only being attentive and kind after all; there was no harm in that even if it had been testing Bilbo's patience a little. 

"If I go back to bed for the rest of the day, will you stop all this nonsense?" 

"Aye, if you seem better after having a day's rest, I promise to stop my 'hovering'." 

"Very well then." Bilbo sighed and shuffled back passed Thorin, a grateful smile aimed at the dwarf despite his earlier protests. 

It was testament to how unwell he felt that Bilbo hadn't even dressed properly that morning. He was still in his nightshirt, his dressing gown thrown on over it for warmth. As such, he climbed straight back into bed and wriggled beneath the covers to make himself comfortable before flopping back against the pillows with a sigh and a sniffle. 

He'd sooner have tea with Lobelia than admit to Thorin that he did feel worse than he'd let on. Skin fevered and head muzzy as if cotton wool were stuffed between his ears, eyes unfocused, and tired, so very tired and dizzy (not to mention the sore throat and stuffy nose).

It was little surprise then, when Thorin peeked his head around the door not even two minutes later, Bilbo had already drifted off to sleep.

 

* * *

 

He woke feeling as hot as dragon flame and weighed down as if he'd been pinned in place. Delirious with fever and mightily confused, Bilbo thrashed for a moment before realising that the heat was caused not by a dragon, but by a merrily crackling fire in his bedroom hearth and the multitude of blankets that had been piled atop him. 

Frowning, Bilbo looked for the culprit and found him fidgeting in the doorway bearing a tray with a bowl of soup. The pleasant aroma of the food must have been what had woken Bilbo in the first place, though the scent wasn't as strong as he suspected it should have been due to his stuffy nose. 

Looking about his room with bleary eyes, Bilbo found that Thorin had obviously tidied the place whilst he'd slept, in addition to stoking the fire, nearly burying him in blankets, and making him something to eat. His frown softened at the revelation and Bilbo felt his lips twitch into a warm smile. "I thought you said you weren't going to fuss." 

"This isn't fussing; it's merely being a good healer." 

"You're a healer now? Last I checked you were a blacksmith. Was I asleep so long you decided to change your profession, dear?" His throat still hurt to try to speak or swallow, but he couldn't help but tease. 

"Perhaps. Or maybe I just had a quick word with Bell over the best way to treat a sick husband." 

"You went to Bell Gamgee about a cold?" 

"She was very helpful. She gave me this soup recipe and everything." He nodded his head to the tray still in his hands and wandered over in order to place it on Bilbo's lap once the hobbit had managed to struggle up into a sitting position. 

Shaking his head with a fond grin and a huff of mock exasperation, Bilbo picked up the spoon and ate a mouthful of the soup. It was very good; chicken broth, but with a decidedly spicy kick to it, something that he hadn't tasted much of (at least not in the Shire). 

Reading Bilbo's expression correctly, Thorin grinned and continued, "Well I say _she_ gave me the recipe, but I do believe Bell or one of her family may have received it from a dwarf passing through here at some time or other. That's an old dwarfish recipe if ever there was one." 

"Don't look so smug about it." Thorin had perched on the edge of the bed and Bilbo nudged him with his shoulder, pretending to frown. "And you'd best not get too close, or you'll likely catch this lurgy." 

Thorin scoffed and reached out to tug lightly on one of Bilbo's curls earning him an unimpressed look. "I'm a dwarf, we're stronger than that." 

"I'll remind you of that when you're curled up and miserable, hacking away and looking at me like a kicked puppy." 

"I'd never!-" 

"You would." Bilbo's voice rasped pathetically and he ate some more soup in an attempt to soothe it. 

"That's enough talk from you, finish the soup and get some more sleep." The slightly bossy tone Thorin had adopted was rendered useless given the affectionate lips nuzzled into Bilbo's hair. 

"Yes, yes, O Wise and Wonderful Healer." 

"Very good," Thorin replied haughtily, doing his best to regain the look of a Very Important Dwarf, he had so long ago worn. The attempt was ruined by the silly grin he wore now though and Bilbo tried not to laugh lest the action hurt his throat even more. 

Bilbo did as he was bid (for once), and finished the soup followed by the cup of feverfew tea Thorin offered him. He then snuggled back down under the blankets so that he could get some more sleep. 

As he drifted off for a second time, Bilbo felt lips at his temple and heard a murmured "sleep well, and feel better" which caused him to grin into his pillows. Murmuring his quiet thanks to Thorin, Bilbo decided that having his husband fuss over him like this every once in a while wasn't a bad thing at all.


	10. J is for Jealousy

Bilbo wasn't just upset… he was furious. 

This was the third day! The _third_ day that Thorin had failed to show up for their afternoon tea together. 

Since Thorin had been crowned, things had become very busy in Erebor. However, up until this point it had become an unspoken rule, almost a tradition of sorts even in such a short space of time, that he and Bilbo would spend an hour or two between long meetings and reconstruction work to have a small afternoon meal together everyday and talk. 

Now though, that accursed, dwarven-king usurping, smarmy git had been monopolizing _his_ Thorin, and Bilbo had had just about enough, thank you very much. 

Stomping down the hallway with a face like a thundercloud, it would be an unwise dwarf who tried to talk with Mister Baggins at this moment in time. Thankfully, it seemed that all the dwarves he passed had a sense of self-preservation, and so steered well clear of the angry little hobbit that was making a beeline for the king's private chambers. One or two of the guards briefly wondered if perhaps they should intervene, such an angry expression couldn't bode well for their sovereign after all, but eventually decided that Thorin could handle himself against the hobbit's ire… and none of them particularly wanted to be on the receiving end of one of Bilbo's tongue lashings when all was said and done. 

Nearly growling, Bilbo decided to cast aside good manners for once and barged into Thorin's room without even knocking. 

Caught red handed. Moreover, Thorin didn't even look the least bit sorry, Bilbo thought with just a small twinge of jealousy and upset at the scene before him. 

"Might have thought _he_ would be the reason you missed afternoon tea again." He muttered voice small and bitter.

Thorin blinked at looked up from where he was seated cross-legged on the rug and dangling a length of string in front of the nose of a very fat, fluffy, orange cat who swatted at the impromptu toy idly. 

"I didn't miss it-" 

"You did. You don't even know how long you've been sat there playing with that bloody cat, do you." 

"Well er…" 

_Now_ Thorin looked guilty, and it was such a pitiful expression that Bilbo felt rather bad about snapping at him… cursed Durin puppy eyes. Instead, Bilbo aimed his glower at the real cause of his anger. In all honesty, 'that bloody cat' didn't even have a name yet. He had been found a little over a week ago wandering outside the gates of Erebor, meowing piteously for food. Thorin, who had been returning from a routine patrol of the area with Dwalin, had seen the cat and felt sorry for him immediately, bringing him into the safe confines of the mountain. 

Bilbo didn't buy that story for a minute. Thorin's insistence that the cat was 'all fluff and bones' was a load of codswallop. The cat was the fattest, most indolent thing Bilbo had ever set his eyes upon, and even if he were a stray, he was certainly too well fed to be too concerned about. 

_I'm going to make sure you're named Smaug, you see if I don't._ Bilbo thought furiously towards the cat as if he might somehow hear his thoughts. _You're large, red, have those bulging glow-y eyes, and you love to lay claim to things that aren't yours… miserable little beast.  
_

The cat looked far too smug for Bilbo's liking too or maybe that was just the oddly squashed face his breed sported. Either way, the cat made a show of hopping up onto Thorin's lap and stretching to place forepaws on his chest, luxuriously kneading the expensive cloth with sharp claws and pulling threads loose. Thorin didn't seem to mind, which only made Bilbo's frown deepen. 

"It's fine, forget about it." Bilbo said at last, the bitterness lingering in his voice made him feel silly and petty now that his anger had passed. He knew he was pouting, and knew the whole thing was ridiculous… but he hardly got to see Thorin these days, and now his few hours with the dwarf were being stolen by a _cat_ of all things. 

And Bilbo _liked_ cats, honestly he did. They were useful, usually made adoring pets, and gave one the excuse to talk to oneself without looking _too_ mad. He should be overjoyed over Thorin adopting a poor stray, and yet… 

"Bilbo," Thorin started, eyebrows rising with sudden realisation. "Are you- are you actually _jealous_ of a cat?" 

To hear it said aloud nearly made Bilbo cringe in embarrassment, and he made a right show of spluttering and shaking his head, stumbling over excuses. 

"You _are_ jealous." And really Thorin should not be grinning like that, he was still in trouble. 

"I just don't like you missing meetings we've arranged and-" 

"And you're jealous." 

"I'm not- don't be absurd why would I be jealous of a _cat_? And- and it's not like I _own_ you, you're free to do as you please, just… well I'd appreciate being given some prior notice next time so I'm not left waiting like an idiot and…" 

"And you're jealous." Thorin's voice was far too gleeful for Bilbo to stand; he could feel his lips twisting into another pout. 

Finally, Thorin seemed to take pity on him, gently extricating the claws from the front of his shirt and shooing the cat off. The cat didn't appreciate being dislodged one bit, and grumbled low in his throat before prowling off in a snit. 

Standing, Thorin approached the hobbit and gently pressed his forehead to Bilbo's, wrapping his arms round his waist. "I _am_ very sorry I missed tea with you again. I promise I won't tomorrow. You know, I'm rather flattered you feel jealous, sanâzyung."

"'m not jealous." Bilbo mumbled one last time, but it was rather difficult to believe him what with the wry smile and possessive way he clutched at Thorin… only to huff at the amount of cat hair on his shirt and try to brush it off. 

Thorin snorted in amusement and grabbed Bilbo's hands to stop him, bringing them up to his lips to kiss the knuckles. 

"I'm planning on naming the cat Smaug, just thought I should warn you." Bilbo's eyes held a challenge and Thorin shook his head, still grinning widely. 

"Oh come now, Bilbo. He doesn't deserve so foul a name as-" 

Bilbo's estimation of the cat rose as he came charging by with impeccable timing, chasing a gold coin of all things. 

"You were saying, dear heart?" Bilbo cooed, fighting back a grin of his own as Thorin glared at the cat as if betrayed. 

"We'll have to think of a different name to call him in font of others though. I'm sure you can understand there are those that… well many dwarves wouldn't see the humour in it. If I couldn't so clearly see your point I think I might be one of them as well." 

"That and you want to be forgiven as quickly as possible." Bilbo added tartly. "Don't think I've forgotten that you owe me three days worth of afternoon tea just because you've sweet talked me." 

"Aye, as always I'm at your service." Thorin smiled, pressing a kiss to Bilbo's cheek. 

All things considered, afternoon tea wasn't such a bad thing to owe someone.

 

* * *

 

Thorin had worried at first that maybe Bilbo and the cat-Smaug wouldn't get along very well given their frosty beginnings. However, really it had been foolish to be concerned at all. 

Peering around a bookcase and into a small niche of the library, Thorin had to press a hand to his mouth to keep from laughing. There, curled up in one of the plush armchairs, was Bilbo. An open book lay in his lap, but was long forgotten owing to the fact that the hobbit had at some point fallen asleep where he sat. Around his shoulders like a fluffy, over large scarf their cat was curled up and dozing too, head nuzzled securely under Bilbo's chin and purring loud enough for Thorin to hear from where he was stood some feet away.


	11. K is for King

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Just to let you know; this chapter roughly links back to Chapter 1 - 'A is for Acorn' AU wise (in fact a lot of chapters can probably be linked together, as I tend to enjoy the Shire!AU theory), so you might want to read that one before this if you haven't already.

Thorin wasn't king, not anymore, and sometimes Bilbo worried if this upset him. And if it didn't upset him, were Thorin's family and friends privately disappointed by it instead. 

It had seemed such a sure thing, when the quest had first started. In Bilbo's naïve imaginings, so full of the tales from his childhood that he very nearly forgot what a perilous mission they were on, the hobbit assumed that they would travel, fight, win, and Thorin would be crowned. All would be right with the world then and their burglar would return home happy and fulfilled from a grand adventure. 

He hadn't reckoned on so many perils or that the dragon would still be alive. He hadn't reckoned on dragon sickness and curses, wars, evil beyond his imagination, near death, and falling tail over tea kettle for a dwarven king. 

He'd been as surprised as anyone when Thorin had announced his intention to abdicate… However, he hadn't even heard it first-hand from Thorin, but in a letter from Ori whilst he was back in the Shire. The first Bilbo knew of Thorin leaving Erebor proper was when he opened the door to find a sheepish dwarf stood there looking for all the world like a lost puppy. 

Bilbo had scolded him, naturally. Wasn't Thorin supposed to have his happily ever after back in Erebor as king? But he'd been rather cut short when the dwarf had stopped his tirade with a kiss. 

There had been fumbling explanations and shy confessions, and Bilbo was fairly certain Thorin had muttered something about how a happily ever after couldn't exist if it wasn't at Bilbo's side.

That daft old romantic… 

Eventually Bilbo learnt that Thorin simply hadn't been content with his role as king, and felt far more at peace in abdicating and leaving the crown to Dáin.

Still, Bilbo had a hard time accepting that the great Thorin Oakenshield (now Thorin Baggins), could ever feel happier living in a smial in the Shire rather than ruling over his people in the splendour of Erebor. 

"You're doing it again," Thorin hummed from where he was seated at the kitchen table, apropos of nothing. 

"Doing what?" Bilbo's head shot up from where he'd had it bowed over a pile of carrots he'd been peeling. 

"The nose thing, very apt considering the 'little bunny' is peeling carrots. That and you look as if your mind is several leagues away from here." He teased. 

Bilbo retaliated by chucking a discarded carrot top at him and scowling despite the amusement he really felt. "I wish you'd never noticed 'the nose thing', it makes me conscious of it now." 

"It's one of your more endearing quirks, but does usually mean you're fretting over something, so what's bothering you?"

"Ah nothing really," Thorin's sceptically raised brow let Bilbo know that the dwarf plainly didn't believe him, so the hobbit relented and continued after a brief pause. "Well, I just always find it odd that you'd rather be a blacksmith in the Shire than a king. I know you've explained why but…" Bilbo trailed off and fidgeted suddenly feeling silly. 

"But?" Thorin pressed, a smile crinkling the corners of his eyes as he watched Bilbo squirm slightly. 

"This sounds daft now… but when I was young I read all sorts of tales about ordinary people finding out they were really royalty and they were always so happy, and I _know_ they're just stories for children… but it just seems rather odd to witness the tale in reverse as it were. I'd always assumed once we took back Erebor you'd be crowned and make a very fine king. To see you prefer a simple life over that… it's just odd I guess." 

"Is that all?" Thorin's smile had grown into a warm grin that, confound it, still made Bilbo's stomach flutter even after several years of marriage. 

"Well that and I keep expecting a contingent of dwarves to come charging in here one day to kidnap you and take you back to Erebor." Bilbo muttered hastily, cheeks burning with the idiocy of it all. 

Oh, now that was just rude! Bilbo glowered as Thorin barked a great laugh over what he'd just confessed. Sniffing imperiously, Bilbo turned his back on his husband to return to his carrots. 

"Bilbo," the hobbit heard the chair scrape against the tiles as Thorin left his seat to wander over to his side. "You really do have the most unique way of looking at things." 

"Is that just a polite way of saying I'm an idiot?" Bilbo narrowed his eyes suspiciously. 

"Perhaps," Thorin admitted and leaned around Bilbo to steal a handful of currents that were supposed to be going in the carrot cake Bilbo was making, the hobbit lightly smacked his hand away to no avail. "You really have nothing to fear from the other dwarves though. Dáin is a fine king, I am sure they're perfectly happy with him in my place. As to the matter of how can I prefer a life here over a life there… I spent most of my life in exile and struggling to lead our people and keep them fed, I spent more days fighting and avoiding death than I had ever lived in comfort as a prince. In the end, what I thought I wanted was not all it seemed to be, my dear. I thought I wanted a kingdom and a crown, but what I really longed for was peace and contentment. I found that here with you far more than I ever could have done if I'd stayed in Erebor as king." 

"I suppose despising the meetings with Thranduil have nothing to do with it then?" Bilbo tried for humour, seeing as his face was now beet red and he was wearing the silliest of smiles.

Thorin adopted a look of shock. "And the keen eyed hobbit manages to see straight through my lies to the heart of the matter!"

Bilbo laughed, setting aside his knife so he could turn and look at Thorin properly. "You're completely daft, no idea why I keep you around, really. All you do is eat all my food and tease me." 

"Ah, but you love me so," Thorin grinned, taking advantage of the situation and pulling the hobbit into an embrace. "Bilbo, I am perfectly happy here, more so than I'd ever have been as king and my people are happier with Dáin on the throne than they would have been with a dwarf who was only half heartedly ruling." 

Mollified, Bilbo smiled and nuzzled briefly at Thorin's collarbone before stepping back to regard him thoughtfully. "You know, you still seem far too regal just to simply be 'Thorin Baggins' though. You've got that- that majestic air about you." He waved his hands as if to emphasise what he was saying and Thorin chuckled again. 

"You think I need a title?" 

"Hm, quite." 

"Well… how about Lord Baggins, Slayer of Weeds?"

"Slayer of my rose bushes more like it, you're hopeless in the garden if it's anything less hardy than a stalwart shrub." 

"Lies and slander," Thorin waved a hand but conceded to Bilbo's words. "What about Prince of All Cakes?" 

"Of eating them maybe, last time you tried to bake a cake you set it afire! My dear, you're wonderful at many things but gardening and baking are not your strong suits." 

Thorin huffed as if irritated, but the arms he'd wrapped around Bilbo's middle squeezed affectionately belying his contentment. "You think of a title then." 

"Hmm… King Thorin of Bag End?" 

"It does have a certain ring to it, but this is _your_ house, Bilbo. I could hardly take that title from you." 

"You're not taking it from me. I assume had we both stayed in Erebor I would have been known as king or something as well?" 

"Consort would be the proper title… but as I say it's your home…"

"It's _our_ home, dearest. And I think we can bend the rules a little where titles are concerned. We'll both be kings." 

"Very well," Thorin started solemnly, as if the fictional titles were something to be taken very seriously. 

Bilbo nodded, a smile playing at his lips at Thorin's stoic expression, only to shriek in laughter when his husbands' face broke into another wide smile and he found himself lifted into strong arms and swung around before Thorin kissed him thoroughly and set him back on his feet just a little dazed. 

"Kings of Bag End it is then. Would His Majesty like some help making the carrot cake?" 

"I believe this king would, so long as King Thorin doesn't see fit to eat half the mixture as we go." 

"May I be deposed and thrown in the dungeons if I commit such treason!" 

Bilbo snorted and handed Thorin a mixing spoon, pretending not to see when the dwarf did steal a little of the mixture for himself.


	12. L is for Lanterns

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As promised, here is the entry for L, just a little late! I’m still not 100% happy with the sky, but since I lack decent art supplies and am running on a severe lack of sleep too, that was the best I could get it, ah well. XD
> 
> This piece is dedicated to the incredible live blogs on tumblr (exileddurin and quiterespectablyyours). If you haven’t read those live blogs yet, where have you been!? They’re brilliant! A lovely blending of book canon, movie canon, and good ol’ fashioned head canon.
> 
> This scene is from a few weeks back when the Company were in Lake-town and participated in the ME version of a Lantern Festival. So here, have two dorks very much in love releasing lanterns and making wishes.
> 
> I’m off to sleep some more now, toodle pip~


	13. M is for Mathom

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cultural differences lead to a slightly confused Thorin.

"Bilbo, I'm afraid I don't quite understand-"

"What is there to understand? It's your mathom from me." Bilbo stated with a light smile. "I know it's not really much, but considering I don't have anything from home with me-"

Thorin held up one hand to prevent the hobbit from rambling on any further, and then pulled his lower lip as he tried to think of the best way to ask his question without potentially offending Bilbo. "It's just that- Bilbo what in the world is a mathom?"

Is it what hobbits called buttons? Because that was certainly what this was. Bilbo had trotted up to Thorin after the meeting with Bard had concluded and pressed the little button into his palm whilst giving the king a bright grin. It was a pretty thing, Thorin allowed, one of the buttons from Bilbo's waistcoat if he recalled correctly. A finely made thing of brass, decorated with a motif of an acorn… lovely really but-

Thorin let his gaze tear away from the study of the button in order to look at Bilbo, and found that the hobbit didn't look upset in anyway, merely amused.

"You don't know what a mathom is? Goodness gracious, Thorin, what do you give to others on your birthday then?"

" _Give_ on my birthday? Bilbo, we don't give gifts on our birthdays, we receive them."

Bilbo blinked, and momentarily looked as if this revelation bemused him, before he collected himself and shook his head, still smiling slightly. "There seems to have been a bit of a misunderstanding where our cultures are concerned by the sound of things. Perhaps I should explain myself better."

Thorin huffed a short laugh as he fell into step beside the hobbit as they left the meeting chambers together. "I'd be grateful if you would."

"Well, let's start with your first question then. A mathom is… well it's a trinket I suppose. I'll speak plain, we hobbits tend to hoard things rather well and usually can't bear to throw things away, so you'll usually find our homes are full of all sorts of useless heirlooms; swords, shields, old jewellery that's long since gone out of fashion, that sort of thing."

"Useless!? How is a sword-" Thorin's interruption was incredulous, but a withering look from Bilbo stayed his tongue and the dwarf king inclined his head so that Bilbo could continue.

"Anyway, it's custom amongst hobbits to give presents to friends and family on your birthday, not receive them. As such, many hobbits find the easiest thing to do is to give away mathoms; things they no longer really need themselves, but can't bear to throw away. Sometimes a mathom will be passed all around the Shire, loathe as we are to dispose of anything. In fact, on occasion the hobbit the mathom originally came from may end up getting it back again… fairly certain those cufflinks I received from my uncle year before last had been mine originally… but I digress. If there's a mathom that's not particularly wanted by anyone, or it has particular interest historical or otherwise, it'll usually end up in one of the Mathom Houses. Michel Delving has the best one, some right interesting stuff in there, from wars and so on. Things right back from when we were wanderers before the Shire, oh you should really see it someday, Thorin-"

"And the button?" Thorin tried to hide the fond look he sent the hobbit, as he gently steered him back to the original topic of their conversation. Bilbo had a rather endearing habit of trailing off into all sorts of topics if he was left to decide the path of a conversation himself.

"Oh! Yes, well. As I said, I'm not at home. I haven't any mathoms to give away and let me tell you, I'd be scolded something proper by the elders back home if they knew. Terribly bad manners of me, especially considering the lovely party you all arranged for me."

"We could hardly let our burglar miss his birthday without a proper celebration."

"I really do think restoring the mountain is a far higher priority… but I am so grateful, Thorin. It was lovely of you to- of all of you to do that."

"It made for a pleasant distraction," Thorin cleared his throat and turned his head in order to hide the slight flush on his cheeks. "And I'm grateful, for the button, the uh mathom. It's very fine."

"Fine enough for a king?" Bilbo grinned and nudged Thorin as they continued their walk back to the rooms shared by the Company.

"More than, I should think. I have to say, I do find it a little odd though; you giving away gifts and not receiving them. What did you give to the others, if you don't mind my asking?"

Here Bilbo squirmed uncomfortably. "Well, that's rather the problem. I haven't really got anything else I can give away that I don't need. The waistcoat was ruined, so giving away the remaining button was all well and good but… it's embarrassing, not to have enough to give to the others."

He wasn't entirely sure why, but Thorin couldn't help but feel rather flattered that he had been the dwarf Bilbo had gifted the button to. After all, Bilbo talked more to Balin, was better friends with Bofur, and had more in common with Ori than he had close connections to him.

The small curl of warmth in his belly had Thorin smiling at their burglar and he considered Bilbo's dilemma for a few moments before putting forward an idea. "These mathoms, do they _have_ to be something you already own? What I mean is… could you _make_ a gift to give to others?"

Bilbo frowned for a moment, before slowly nodding in agreement. "You know, I hadn't really considered it, but some of the less well-to-do families in the Shire, their children will often make things to give away if mathoms are thin on the ground in their homes." An uncertain, hesitant smile started to bloom on Bilbo's face, and he shot Thorin a grateful look. "You think I should make the others something?"

"If you like, these are not our customs, so if you didn't then the others would not be offended in the least."

"Oh, but I'd know and it would eat away at me," Bilbo shook his head emphatically as if to dispel the very thought of not bothering with the rest of their friends. "But what can I make? I'm no blacksmith like the rest of you."

"Play to your strengths. You may not be a smith, but you're creative and artistic. I've heard you speak with Ori about your writing and poetry, I've seen the maps you've drawn of places we've been, the sketches you've made of people and the nature around the mountain. I think anything you give them would be gratefully received."

Bilbo flushed a little at the praise, but did not dispute it, he knew his own strengths after all. "Very well, I'll do that. Thank you, Thorin."

"You're welcome, Bilbo. And thank you for the button."

Bilbo chortled as Thorin admired the little trinket again and shrugged, eyes warm as he looked at the king. "It seemed right that you have it," at Thorin's confused look, Bilbo explained. "It's shaped like an acorn, you're Oakenshield. It just seemed to make sense."

Thorin felt absurdly happy about the notion, and couldn't shake the feeling that somehow, it was a fateful gift.

 

* * *

 

Despite the joy he felt from receiving the button, Thorin couldn't stop the tiny flutter of jealousy he felt when Bilbo gifted the rest of their friends with gifts he'd crafted himself. They weren't what a dwarf would usually consider when hearing the word 'craft', but craft them he had. Sketches and poetry, witty imaginative stories, and food complemented with recipes so the recipient could make the food again if they liked it.

Thorin would have quite liked to receive something actually made by their clever hobbit.

It was a silly thought, and Thorin pushed it aside, contenting himself with the presence of the button he'd sewn onto one of his robes (despite the fact it didn't match the rest, he loved it). And pointedly ignoring the whooping cheer Bofur had just released at his gift of a new pair of mittens (Ori had evidently given the hobbit some tips on knitting).

It was only after the rest of the dwarves received their gifts, or mathoms, that Thorin noticed the hobbit had wandered over to stand beside him, fidgeting slightly. The rest of the Company were chatting loudly and comparing gifts, so hadn't noticed when Bilbo handed something over to Thorin who accepted with raised eyebrows.

"It's not favouritism, I swear," Bilbo babbled with a shy grin. "It just felt wrong making things for everyone else and only giving you a button. So well…" the hobbit trailed off, twitching his nose and humming to escape the end of the sentence.

"I'd never accuse you of such a thing," and though Thorin tried to make his voice sound neutral, the dwarf king couldn't ignore the leap of joy in his stomach. It was definitely something he'd have to ponder over later.

Untying the string that held the parchment around his gift, Thorin found a simple silvery clasp for his hair. He could tell it hadn't been made by the most skilled of hands, one end was slightly thicker than the other, and although some attempts of etching a design had been made; it had not the finesse or detail that a skilled dwarf might afford the item. Still, the sight of it was enough to make his breath hitch… it wasn't a bead and of course not, why would Bilbo gift him with… but it was a clasp so it was a near thing, and did Bilbo even know what gifts like that meant?

"It's not _brilliant_ but it's not bad for my first try. Fíli said it was sturdy enough, and the decoration was nice to look at so-"

"Fíli said?"

"Ah, yes. He helped show me how to do a little metalwork. I couldn't make it from anything precious though, not when we're still fixing the place up, so it's not really very _kingly_ but-"

"Bilbo, it's wonderful, thank you." Surprising even himself with his forwardness, Thorin set aside the clasp in order to grasp Bilbo's hands in his and squeeze them gently before leaning forward and pressing his forehead to Bilbo's own.

Over the months in the mountain, Bilbo had become used to such gestures amongst dwarves (and was merely infinitely thankful that they knew not to do that head-butting thing with him in the same way they so often did with close kin), and so didn't flinch at Thorin's show of affection. However, he did feel his cheeks warm and his pulse jump at the closeness for reasons he couldn't quite fathom.

"Oh, well you're welcome of course. I'm glad you like it."

"When my birthday comes around, I'll be sure to gift you with something showing as much effort as this clasp and just as fine."

"It's not _that_ lovely, don't be silly, Thorin… but I'd like that all the same. Something made by you would be very nice I think."

Not quite realising they had an audience now, Thorin and Bilbo reamined blissfully ignorant of the knowing grins and change of coin happening between the rest of their companions.


	14. N is for Nostalgia

Nostalgia, Thorin had come to realise, was something that crept up on you unbidden. 

It could be in the smallest of things. 

The smell of bread baking could call to mind his sister. She of the knife sharp words and razor thin patience, she who could wield a blade with as much deadly skill as Dwalin and had the boundless energy to handle her rapscallion sons. She would be gentle when baking. All soft, patient smiles and quiet songs sung with a melodious, throaty voice. True, she kneaded the dough with far more force than necessary, but the result was always delicious. This smallest of promptings had the ability to transport Thorin back years to before the quest and back to the kitchen of their humble home in Ered Luin. 

The crackle of parchment could return Thorin to his youth quick as a flash and he would be seated in the library once more, listening to old Fundin lecture him on the duties of a prince. 

The sight of his sister's-sons teaching Bilbo how to wield a sword would cause Thorin to recall with such clarity his own days on the training fields, brawling with Dwalin and Dáin, learning the hard way how best to block attacks and dodge and succeed through defence. Painful lessons, but lessons that had always left him grinning and pleased at any small triumph. 

The taste of berries or the feel of grass under his feet, all of it dredged up such happy feelings of time with his family back in Erebor.

When he admitted to Bilbo of how often such small stimulants evoked these memories, the hobbit had laughed brightly and told the dwarf he hadn't taken him for the nostalgic sort, but that it was much the same for him. 

"It's not a bad thing to think of the past so often?" 

The rest of the question didn't need to be asked outright. Bilbo understood immediately what Thorin was truly fretting over. The dwarf was worried about reminiscing on anything remotely happy when so much of his past was filled with grief. Didn't feeling nostalgia for a time when they were displaced and suffering make him terribly uncaring? Didn't recalling his youth with such fondness, when his grandfather was sick and the dragon's threat looming make him a bad person? 

"You know," Bilbo started conversationally, offering Thorin a slice of the bread he'd baked which had evoked the memory of his sister in the first place. "My mother once told me something useful." 

Thorin immediately leaned closer with interest, slice of bread in one hand slathered with jam suddenly quite forgotten. He had found that Bilbo had a penchant for good common sense, and that the hobbit's parents had both been intelligent and quite good in giving advice. The dwarf was always more than willing to listen to any words of wisdom Bilbo (or his dearly departed parents) might have to offer. 

Seeing that he had a captive audience, Bilbo chuckled and patted Thorin's free hand fondly before continuing. "She told me that there's no harm in thinking fondly on the past, even if it wasn't quite how you remember it. There's nothing wrong with being nostalgic for times you enjoyed." 

"Oh?" Thorin had a feeling there was more to it than that, and Bilbo nodded, chewing peacefully on a bite of scone before he carried on. 

"You recall I've mentioned before. My mother, before she married and had me; she was quite the adventurer herself. It's how my family knows Gandalf you see. After she settled down, she said she couldn't help but long for her old life sometimes, even when deep down she knew that the adventures hadn't always been as grand as she remembered them, and she felt bad about wishing for the past when she had so much good in the present. I'm much like her in that respect don't you know? For the first half of our quest all I could do was long for my home and complain how things were so much better back there. They weren't as good as I often made out to you all; truth is back home I was often thought of as an oddity, I was bored, and lonely, but in my mind I'd pushed all that aside and only remembered the good." 

Thorin nodded in agreement, lips twitching as he did quite clearly recall how often the hobbit complained about the conditions on their trek across Middle Earth to Erebor.

"The thing my mother said was; it's perfectly alright to long after the good bits of your past, so long as you don't forget the good you have now, and the good you will have in the future." 

The tense lines in Thorin's body relaxed almost immediately, and the smile that he graced the hobbit with was warm enough to make Bilbo fidget where he sat. "You see, this is why I need several dozen more hobbits as advisors. They certainly know how to ease a dwarf's mind." 

Bilbo laughed aloud at that and shook his head as if disbelieving. "Some of us might, Thorin. I think most would probably just give you a headache."

"Are you including yourself in the former or latter category?" 

Bilbo narrowed his eyes at the dwarf, but a smirk touched his lips all the same. "I like to think I accomplish both." 

Thorin smirked right back and stole a piece of Bilbo's scone causing the hobbit to grumble indignantly. 

"So, are you feeling better about your nostalgic heart now?" 

"Much better, thank you, Bilbo." 

And it was the truth. Bilbo's words (or rather his mother's) had been the balm Thorin's fraught mind had needed. It wasn't unhealthy for him to reminisce on the good in his past whilst setting aside the bad for once, just so long as he didn't dwell there too long. 

When considering his present; a kingdom reclaimed, kith and kin happy and ever present around him, and Bilbo by his side, there really wasn't any reason why he should want to live in the past anyway. Not when he had so much to look forward to in the future.


	15. O is for Oakenshield

It hadn't been until reaching Beorn's that Bilbo had the opportunity to ask him. Up until this point, the hobbit simply hadn't felt confident enough in the dwarf king's presence to speak of anything particularly personal.

"So, Oakenshield is a moniker and not a true surname I take it?"

They hadn't even really been having a conversation when the question slipped out; Bilbo had just felt the curiosity finally boil over and he'd spoken without thinking.

Thorin had turned to him, slightly surprised at the abruptness of his query, pipe half hanging from his lips. "That is true, yes."

"None of your kin have surnames either I've noticed. It's always just so-and-so son of whomever."

"Aye," Thorin felt his lips twitch traitorously at the way Bilbo scrunched up his nose in a perplexed manner, and tried to distract himself by blowing a smoke ring. Had this conversation occurred before the goblin tunnels, Thorin probably would have been curter, maybe even somewhat offended by the hobbit's blunt and forward attitude.

"But… how do you dwarves tell which family is which? And documentation must be a shambles if you don't own surnames!" There was genuine concern in Bilbo's tone that made looking indifferent very difficult to accomplish for Thorin.

"Oddly enough, Master Baggins, we manage quite well. We have existed for quite some time now. Far longer than hobbits, I'd wager."

Bilbo turned to face him, startled expression speaking of how the hobbit probably feared he'd irritated the king. He was thankful to find that Thorin did not look in the least bothered over his presumptuous manner; in fact, Thorin looked quite amused by it. All the same, Bilbo felt it only polite to apologise for coming across as pushy.

"I am sorry, that wasn't really what I wanted to ask you anyway, I just sort of... went off on a tangent there." Bilbo ducked his head, a rueful smile touching his lips.

"What did you want to ask me then?" Thorin was in an indulgent mood. The weather was very fine here in Beorn's garden. It was warm and sunny, the long grass practically inviting him to take a nap, and given his injuries that would probably be quite a good idea. As such, Thorin felt it no hardship to engage in some lighthearted conversation with their burglar. He had saved him after all, and Thorin desperately wished to make amends for his less than gracious treatment of the hobbit before that.

… Besides, Bilbo was rather pleasant to talk to. Witty and charming and with an interesting outlook on life, quite different from a dwarf. Hobbits were interesting creatures, and now he had opened his eyes to Bilbo's worth, Thorin found he wanted to learn more about him.

Bilbo had been twining some daisies together in a rough semblance of a crown whilst he thought, and glancing up to see Thorin's encouraging gaze, he felt emboldened enough to ask. "The moniker… You received it after fighting him didn't you; Azog I mean. Balin said you'd used an oak branch to shield yourself whilst you fought, and once I'd found out none of you owned surnames, I assumed that Oakenshield must be due to this."

The tightening in Thorin's expression had Bilbo fumbling for another apology immediately. "I'm so sorry; if it's painful you don't have to talk to me about it. I was just curious, that's all. I was wondering if any of the other dwarves you know had similar names they'd gained, but it's nothing honestly. I'm just being too nosey for my own good."

"Bilbo, do not fret so. I'm not about to yell at you for it. Thank you for considering my feelings, but it's fine. It's not so much the memory of the battle upsetting me as it is the failure."

"Failure?" Bilbo's brow furrowed in confusion. "Forgive me, Thorin. You don't seem like the type to fail in anything you do."

"You've a high estimation of me then, I'm flattered." The dwarf allowed a small smile to chase away some of the shadow that had crept over his heart, it was quite pleasant to have someone naïve enough to believe in him like that. "But yes, there was failure, you saw it for yourself. I'd thought Azog dead after Azanulbizar; the wound I'd inflicted upon him was grievous enough had it been left improperly treated… but clearly it was not sufficient. I gained that title after using the oak branch that is true. However, it was the honour of being victorious against my foe that led to it being widely used. Now I've discovered he still lives, so I don't truly deserve the title."

"Oh but surely-"

"I have also lost that same shield during the fight. I'm rather thinking that Oakenshield cannot be a name I own any longer." Thorin found, that despite the lingering bitterness he felt over his failure and the loss of good shield, he couldn't stop the slight self-depreciating humour from entering his tone. It was quite ironic. Thorin Oakenshield had never truly been thus, and was without a shield to bear the name now besides.

"That's a pity…" Bilbo hummed, and Thorin noted a light of mischief in the hobbit's eyes. "It won't do, we'll have to think up a different title for you."

Had this been some weeks earlier, Thorin might have bristled and assumed Bilbo was mocking him. Now though, now he felt a tug of camaraderie between them, and somehow he knew Bilbo only wanted to cheer him up. The thought warmed him and chased away the last of the misery, even if only temporarily.

"And what would our esteemed burglar suggest as an alternative title?"

Bilbo set aside his wreath of daisies and tapped a forefinger against his lower lip as if he were thinking hard. "How about, Thorin Stonestare?"

"Stonestare?" Thorin echoed; one eyebrow rose quizzically, fighting to keep control of the amusement he was certain the hobbit would cause with his answer.

"Why yes, your glare surely turns all opponents to stone." Bilbo attempted to mimic one of Thorin's 'glares' but the effect was merely comical on the softer features of the hobbit.

"Had I that ability, all my foes would be vanquished. No, that's a horrible title; try for another, Master Baggins."

Bilbo nodded sagely as if in agreement and adopted a look of deep concentration again. "Thorin Elvenbane."

This time Thorin snorted and tried not to look as if he were quite so happy with this new title, questioning casually. "Whatever gave you the idea for that one?"

"Oh don't play coy, you'd gladly be a thorn in the side of every elf in Middle Earth had you half the chance."

"Hmm, it's not a bad moniker by any means, and would certainly gain me some good standing amongst my kin. I'm afraid I'll have to decline it though, Bilbo. Elves are irritatingly proud creatures. If they caught wind of this name, each and every elf within travelling distance would come to try and avenge themselves against me. I really don't have the patience to be dealing with them."

"Fussy about your titles aren't you, Your Majesty."

"They're important to us, you insolent rabbit." Thorin was actually smiling now, giving in to the discomfort of his still healing wounds and tapping out his pipe so he could lie back in the long grass of Beorn's garden and get some rest.

"Oh don't you start, I've gained a title of my own in that; 'Little Bunny' indeed. I'm not some pet! Beorn's a lovely fellow, but he really is quite condescending, though I don't believe he means to be."

It was… difficult, but Thorin managed not to laugh at both the hobbit's indignation and the idea that suddenly came to him. "I think I may have an idea for a title actually."

"Is that so? And what idea would that be?" Bilbo's face entered Thorin's field of vision as he hovered over him, expression curious.

"Well, I lost one shield but gained another in that fight. Perhaps I should start referring to myself as Thorin Bagginshield."

Bilbo nearly choked on air, and promptly disappeared from Thorin's sight as he flopped back into the grass beside him letting loose a helpless bark of laughter. "Thorin, that's terrible! What an awful name. No, that's decided it; you're never allowed to give yourself a title if that's the rubbish you come up with."

"I quite like it," Thorin said sounding affronted, the grin on his lips spoke otherwise, however.

"Like it or not, it doesn't make for a good title as I'd make for a completely useless shield. I'm far too soft, swords and spears would go straight through me!"

Despite the slightly gruesome image that conjured, Thorin was in far too good a mood now to dwell on it for long. He chuckled and turned to face Bilbo, "I didn't mean it quite so literally. You shielded me during the fight, were willing to protect me with your life. To be quite honest with you, I wouldn't feel any shame in taking that title, even if it doesn't sound quite as impressive as Oakenshield to you."

Bilbo's laughter cut off as if sliced with a knife, and he blinked, eyes wide and surprised at the dwarf. "You're… you're actually serious about that?"

"Yes, it would be an honour to bear that name as it was a brave deed. However if you don't like it, I could just adopt your surname instead as a sign of gratitude."

To Thorin's surprise, the hobbit squawked and sat up quickly, his eyes widening even further, "You um… you really don't understand how surnames work, do you?"

Thorin frowned, wondering why Bilbo suddenly looked so fidgety, and shrugged lazily, "I spent time with men and hobbits when I was working as a smith, but I never did quite understand your fascination of bearing two names and how they worked."

Bilbo puffed out a breath between pursed lips and shuffled closer to Thorin in order to explain.

"Our first names work like yours do, but with surnames; the only way they are shared are through close family or… well or you can gain a surname by marriage."

Ah… well…

If Bilbo's face was red, then Thorin's must resemble a forge fire.

So in offering to take Bilbo's surname he had indirectly… curse it all.

He was very glad Dwalin was not around; the daft bugger would be laughing like a braying donkey if he'd heard this.

"My apologies, Bilbo. I didn't realise…"

"No, it's quite alright. No harm done at all." Bilbo smiled, and after a moment's hesitation, he barrelled on, heedless of the outcome. "After all, I'd imagine a king would make for quite respectable choice of husband. I could do worse."

It was Thorin's turn to choke on nothing in particular and push himself up onto his elbows so quickly it made him wince as a few of his wounds pulled uncomfortably.

Bilbo laughed hard at the shock on Thorin's face and placed a placating hand on the dwarf king's shoulder. "I'm teasing, Thorin. Don't worry; I'm not expecting you to marry me." He tilted his head, eyes warm as he regarded his companion. "I think you should keep Oakenshield, even if you don't believe you deserve the title, it really suits you. And I think that you're speaking nonsense anyway, you've earned that title whether Azog lives or not."

Thorin blinked up at him, unable to answer as he was still a little poleaxed by the joke about marriage.

"I'm going to get something to eat, would you like me to bring you something?"

Thorin found enough sense to nod politely in answer, and it was as Bilbo walked away that Thorin gathered himself enough to truly think over what had just happened.

He supposed he would keep the title Oakenshield, for now anyway. He'd used it for so long it seemed a part of him now, even if it were false.

However, the dwarf's mind kept flitting back to the notion of gaining the name Baggins, and found that it left him feeling far more content than he thought was probably wise.


	16. P is for Prayers to Broken Stone

_As promised, here is the entry for P, just a little late! For anyone who has not read Avelera’s absolutely stunning fanfic ‘Prayers to Broken Stone’ I urge you to go and do so right now! It can be found[here](http://archiveofourown.org/works/1205443/chapters/2462317) and is definitely one of the best Bagginshield fics out there in my opinion. _

_Summary: **Twisted by the effects of dragon sickness, Thorin banishes not only Bilbo but the entire company from Erebor. Days pass with no word from their missing leader and, fearing the effects the gold may have on the other dwarves, Bilbo decides to enter the mountain alone in search of Thorin. What he finds may not be Thorin for much longer.**_

_**Or: In which the dragon sickness is slowly transforming Thorin into a dragon, and Bilbo must save him before it is too late.** _

_The fic is a psychological drama and blends all sorts of lovely elements from both the movies and book, not to mention the lore surrounding the Petty Dwarves too. There is some angst (if the picture hasn’t clued you in already), but if I can handle it, you certainly can!_


	17. Q is for Quiet

Erebor was not a place one would necessarily associate with the concept of 'quiet'. Between the tolling of the great bell every hour from dawn until dusk, the ringing falls of hammers on steel, the swell of song from the mines, and general chatter and hubbub that came from a great gathering of many folk in one place; Erebor was in fact never quiet, not even in the dead of night. 

When the dwarves had started to return to Erebor, after Smaug had been defeated and the great battle won, Bilbo had found the increase of noise disconcerting. True, whilst on the road the days and nights in the company of dwarves had given him some small insight into how life would be living in a mountain, but it didn't prepare him for the sheer magnitude of the changes he'd face.

The Shire was a very quiet, peaceful place as a rule. Unless there was a particularly rambunctious party scheduled, or a lively market day at hand, Bilbo's home was about as far removed from the dwarves' as could be imagined. 

Peaceful days of gentle chatter and birdsong over shouted greetings and loud work. Sun and warm, sweet smelling breezes rather than chilly mountain air and the tang of snow, or smoke, hot metal, or sweat. Green rolling hills, flowers, and blue sky as opposed to cavernous halls, gems, gold, and forge fires. 

Bilbo had slowly become accustomed to a large number of these differences; in fact, he sometimes preferred life in the mountain to life in the Shire. Certainly, the company was far more welcoming, the food just as good, and the general atmosphere in his living quarters as cosy and inviting as any hobbit hole. 

But the noise! The ceaseless and unending noise!

It was enough to drive a hobbit mad, Bilbo thought with a resigned sigh one evening as he trotted back through the hallways to his own rooms. His arms full of scrolls and books, the once-burglar returned pleasantries and greetings in Khuzdûl as best he could when he was met with them. 

Despite his love for languages, the hobbit's Khuzdûl still needed some work, and it was a mark of how kind and welcoming the rest of the dwarves had been toward his prolonged stay here that most knew instinctively to switch to Westron when he was around for the sake of civility. 

His playing a fairly major role in the reclamation of Erebor itself might have something to do with it, but he had a feeling that dwarves were just generally misjudged quite badly. Where most folk saw a distrustful and secretive people, Bilbo knew them to be kind and tenacious, hospitable enough to put any hobbit to shame. True their manners were rough around the edges, and they could be stubborn as mules when pressed, but Bilbo had concluded that he would not find better companionship anywhere else in Middle Earth. 

And if they did hoard secrets… well then, he could hardly blame them for that given their long and quite fraught history. 

He just wished they were a little quieter sometimes… his ears would certainly thank them for it at the very least. 

Fumbling with his key (a fair sized iron thing), and his scrolls, Bilbo nearly dropped the lot before he managed to nudge open the door to his rooms and all but collapse inside. 

If not anywhere else, could they at _least_ stay quiet in the library? 

How could anyone hope to concentrate with all the talking going on in there? Fair enough, the voices were lowered to rumbled murmurs, but it was almost continuous and so just as distracting as a normal volume of chatter. The libraries of elves and hobbits were never like that in his experience. 

Thus, Bilbo had brought every book and scroll he could think of needing back to his rooms in the hope of accomplishing something here… probably too optimistic by far given that none other than the king was waiting for him on the other side of the door. 

"Thorin, I didn't think to see you today. I heard from Balin that you had a meeting with the guild masters." Bilbo huffed and juggled his stack of books and papers rather precariously. 

"It didn't take half so long as I'd feared; we're finished for the evening. It's good to see you; I haven't had the chance to talk with any of you in nearly a week, apart from Balin and Dwalin of course." Thorin reached out without even waiting to be asked and relieved the hobbit of some of his scrolls. "You know, you can work in the library… it would probably save you the trek back carrying all of these." 

"Ah, but then I'd miss a visit from our illustrious 'King Under the Mountain', would I not?" Bilbo's lips quirked into a teasing grin. 

"I would soon find you." 

"Not entirely sure if I should feel flattered by that revelation, or concerned," Bilbo chuckled and heaved the rest of the books over to his desk to set them down. "Besides, I wouldn't want to stay in the library; I can barely hear myself think. I swear you dwarves don't know the meaning of the word 'quiet'." 

"'Quiet' hmm," Thorin stroked his beard and affected a look of deep concentration, then confusion, before answering. "Isn't that the word meaning to create as much cacophony as possible in order to irritate resident hobbits?" 

"Clearly your vernacular does not possess the proper translation for that word and needs some improvement," Bilbo shot back, lips twitching.

"Clearly that must be the case," Thorin gave him a warm smile before turning his attention to the books Bilbo had lugged back with him, scanning their contents with interest. "Did you bring half the library back with you, Bilbo?"

"Oh not quite, just a third of it I'd imagine," Bilbo replied with casual good humour and wiped his hands free of the dust from the old scrolls before joining Thorin in peering at the titles once more… had he forgotten any? "I just wanted to catch up on the translation work Ori gave me, and to look over what would be necessary to create a viable farming community beyond the gates. I think the folk in Dale like the idea of being more self-sufficient, but they're used to trading and fishing, not farming. I just thought if I could read a little information on the state of the soil and growing conditions in this region, I could perhaps give them some advice." 

Thorin felt a giddy little swoop in his stomach over Bilbo's admission, and quickly chided himself for such ridiculousness. There was no reason to be quite so happy over the hobbit helping with the renovation of Erebor and Dale; he was simply being kind and helpful. The fact that he was instinctively taking on the role of a trusted advisor, or maybe something more, meant absolutely nothing at all. 

"It's an excellent idea, Bilbo, thank you." 

"Oh, well… it's nothing really. I enjoy growing things and if I can help Erebor and Dale whilst I'm at it, then all the better." 

"So, the library was really too noisy for you?" 

"Ah, unfortunately, yes. I prefer not to be disturbed when I'm reading and the library just wasn't quiet enough for that."

"Should I make a royal decree that states all dwarves in the library must be silent?" Thorin tried his best to sound deadly serious, but Bilbo recognised the teasing tone immediately and rolled his eyes. Despite his exasperated expression, Bilbo loved the banter and teasing that flowed easily between he and Thorin these days. It seemed that when not on a life threatening quest, or recovering from grievous wounds, Thorin was actually a witty and amusing individual with those he knew well. He supposed his sister and nephews must have picked up some of their sense of humour from him. 

"That won't be necessary Your Majesty, I'm quite happy to work here instead of the library. Besides, here I can make myself a decent cup of tea," and the hobbit, smiling widely, went to do just that. "Would you like one?" 

"Ah, yes please." 

The king made himself comfortable in the living room of Bilbo's quarters, settling himself in one of the armchairs in front of the fireplace and leafing through one of the books he'd picked up from the desk. It was interesting he supposed, if one liked growing things that is. The book listed ideal growing conditions and numerous plants suited to the area surrounding Erebor. If he remembered correctly, several of these books had been gifted to them by the elves, before things turned sour between them. 

Bilbo returned shortly with a tray laden with tea and a few snacks, setting it on a small table between them. Seating himself in the chair across from Thorin with a book of his own, Bilbo grinned at the dwarf. "It's kind of you to still make time for us, what with you being so busy and all."

"It's entirely for selfish reasons you know. Were it not for you and the rest of the Company distracting me from my duties occasionally, I'd probably be atop the ramparts baying at the moon, or have run off into the forest to live as an elf." 

Again, the remark was made so casually and in such a serious tone, that Bilbo had to stuff the edge of his sleeve in his mouth to hold back his laughter, hardly respectable. 

Thorin looked far too pleased at accomplishing such a reaction and Bilbo mock glowered at him for a few moments. They lapsed into comfortable silence after that, each turning their attention to their books and tea. 

At length, Thorin murmured, "you say that the library is too noisy for you… but what about the rest of the mountain?" 

Bilbo's gaze lifted from his book and he marked his place with a finger as he took note of the concern in Thorin's expression. The dwarf had clearly been fretting over this since Bilbo had mentioned it, and for some reason the notion warmed Bilbo's heart. 

"To be honest, it's _all_ a fair bit noisier than what I'm used to, but I think that's to be expected. We're inside a mountain, with restoration happening at every turn. It's bound to be a bit chaotic here. I'm just far too used to the steady pace of the Shire, that's all." 

Still Thorin looked worried and set his book aside in order to lean forward, elbows resting on his knees and hands alternating between clasping and fiddling with his rings. A sure sign he was troubled, from what Bilbo recalled. "It bothers you though, the noise?" 

"A little now and then," Bilbo shook his head and reached across the distance between them to take hold of Thorin's hands and still them. "I'm not considering running back to the Shire or whatever daft thing you've thought up." 

Thorin blinked up at him as if startled, clearly Bilbo had guessed correctly then. "Good, that's… that's good. I-" Thorin cleared his throat and continued hesitantly. "I would miss your company." 

Bilbo was kind enough not to mention the blush staining Thorin's cheeks, in part because his face felt rather warm as well. "And I would miss yours too." 

That smile really shouldn't be allowed, Bilbo thought in a flustered manner. It's too charming by far.

And- well that was a little unexpected. For Thorin had manoeuvred his hands so that he was gently holding Bilbo's instead, and then raised them to brush his lips over the knuckles. 

Far too charming. 

It seemed like the most natural thing in the world after that, for the two of them to abandon their separate chairs and instead settle themselves on the floor in front of the fireplace, sharing Thorin's cloak like a blanket as they read together. 

And this was the peace and quiet Bilbo had been craving. The quiet of his rooms and the gently crackling fire in his hearth, the whisper of a page turning and hushed, affectionate murmurs between them. Quiet contentment and quiet love that was all that was needed even if the rest of the world was loud.


	18. R is for Rain

He's dancing. 

He's dancing and to be quite honest, Thorin can't fathom it at all. 

Their hobbit, their prim and proper, polite mannered and fussy little hobbit has left the confines of the mountain in order to dance. It's raining, and Bilbo is outside dancing in it. 

And quite frankly, no matter how many times Thorin tries to comprehend these facts, they simply seem too bizarre to be true. 

"Bilbo, do you need me to fetch Óin perhaps?" because really, other than a side effect of some delusional fever, what other reason can Bilbo have to be outside and becoming increasingly drenched to no purpose. 

Twisting himself around in an oddly graceful move, the hobbit fetches up smiling in Thorin's direction. "Whyever would I need Óin? I'm not ill." 

"You shall be if you continue to stay out in the rain like that, come inside." 

"Thorin, don't be ridiculous, I'm perfectly fine out here." As if to prove a point, Bilbo turns his face upward, grins at the heavy clouds, eyes closed, and arms outstretched. 

Really that's about all Thorin can stand, and so with a resigned sigh, the king emerges from his perplexed study of the hobbit in the doorway and joins him outside, frowning as he feels his hair and clothes quickly become soaked. 

"You'll catch cold and then I'll have to suffer your complaints. Have some compassion for me, please." The tone was somewhat amused as Thorin shrugged off his cloak and draped it over Bilbo's shoulders. Far too long on him of course, but it would keep him warmer at least. 

"I do not complain," Bilbo sniffed in an affronted manner, and Thorin ducked his head to hide a grin. 

"Oh no, not much at all. I've one word for you, Master Hobbit: handkerchiefs." 

"Must you dredge that up every time?" 

"As many times as it takes for you to admit that you fuss over silly things." Bilbo might have been offended were it not for the affectionate gaze Thorin pinned him with, and the arms which encircled him in a futile attempt to keep the rain from drenching him further. "What are you doing out here anyway?" 

"Enjoying the fine weather of course," Bilbo wasted no time in burying his face in the crook of Thorin's neck and humming contentedly as he returned the embrace. 

After the battle, inconsequential things like propriety and personal space seemed ridiculous notions to uphold, at least to Bilbo. Why hold back on affection? It could only be expressed properly whilst still living. Thus he'd started to exhibit affection much more freely. Hugs and lingering touches were given without much care to what others thought, and Bilbo found he was happier for it. Thorin didn't seem to mind one bit, in fact he'd usually reciprocate in kind, and dwarves were generally known to be more demonstrative in friendships and love anyway. To them the change in Bilbo's behaviour was probably hardly noteworthy. 

"It may have escaped your notice, but it is raining, quite heavily in fact. I am not entirely sure this constitutes good weather." 

"This is very fine weather, Thorin. Good for growing things, good for clearing the air and cooling the temperature. It's just as lovely as the sun in my opinion." 

"You're not drunk, are you?" Thorin teased and was rewarded with a light reprimanding swat to his arm, though Bilbo made no move to step back from him, so he couldn't be truly upset over the remark. 

"No," Bilbo nuzzled against the warm skin of Thorin's collarbone, and the dwarf shivered slightly at the cold press of Bilbo's nose and sopping hair. "If you must know, I've just spent too long cooped up in the mountain and needed to get out for some fresh air." 

"The air is fresh enough-"

" _Proper_ fresh air, Thorin. And to see the sky… well alright I can't see the sky very well what with the rain, but I just needed some open space and proper daylight." 

Bilbo's breath was warm against his skin, and Thorin swallowed thickly, trying to ignore the fact that lips were now brushing his neck with every word Bilbo spoke. 

"Very well, but why the dancing?" 

Bilbo laughed aloud and tightened his hold briefly before leaning back to look at Thorin and give a shrug. "I felt like it. This is the first proper rain of the season. It'll do the plants a world of good and it just made me happy I suppose." 

Thorin tilted his head in interest and moved a hand up to brush aside some of the unruly curls that the rain had plastered against Bilbo's forehead. "That's as good a reason as any I suppose," he allowed. 

Bilbo's smile, if possible, widened further, so that his eyes danced with mirth and their corners creased charmingly. "Most folk would usually just call me odd for this, you know." 

"A good thing I'm not most folk then. If this makes you happy then it's no bad thing." 

He spoke the truth. Upon first seeing the hobbit out in the rain, Thorin had wondered if Bilbo was feeling entirely himself. However, now he'd been given a reason, Thorin couldn't find it odd at all, just somehow endearing. 

"It does, but being out here with you makes it that much better." 

Thorin chuckled at the blunt reply he received, his ears feeling warm. Well then, whether they fell sick or not, if this was Bilbo's wish, he could hardly deny it. He seemed to be quite bad at denying the hobbit anything, actually. It was a good thing Bilbo never had the presence of mind to take advantage of that. 

"In that case, Master Baggins," Thorin stepped back from Bilbo and sketched bow, hand outstretched and grinning broadly. "May I have this dance?" 

Bilbo laughed his surprise and took hold of the proffered hand readily, drawn close once more as the pair began to dance together, the rain entirely forgotten.

 

* * *

 

Dwalin, passing by the window in his brother's rooms, happened to see the scene below unfold and huffed a soft laugh before calling out, "Balin, how's that betting pool goin'?" 

"Which one?" Balin's harried voice carried from one of adjacent rooms as his elder brother apparently searched for some notes for an upcoming meeting. 

"The one regarding our good king and hobbit burglar." 

"Ah, well there's quite a few against surprisingly. It's due to the newer lot that just arrived y'know. They foolishly seem to think that a dwarf from the line of Durin would never fall for a hobbit. Nonsense of course- why do you ask?" 

"Put me down for ten gold on the 'it'll happen any bloody day now' team will ye?"


	19. S is for Stories

"… Flattery wasn't working at all you see; for dragons, though vain, are ever so clever. The great dragon was opening his jaws to either breathe fire at me or eat me and I wasn't sure which it would be, but I wasn't about to stay in one place to find out so I-" 

"You didn't really do that did you, Uncle?" Wide blue eyes staring up at him in awe and just a little scepticism stopped Bilbo's story telling mid sentence. 

"I didn't really do what, m'boy?" Slightly thrown out of his stride, Bilbo dropped the heroic pose he'd adopted in order to act out the tale, and blinked in confusion at Frodo. 

"Talk to a dragon. I mean…" Frodo suddenly looked very sheepish, guilty at disbelieving his uncle but it just seemed too fantastical to have been real. "If you really talked to a dragon, why did he not gobble you up?" 

"I was just getting to that part." Hands on his hips and a mock scowl on his face, Bilbo tried to look as put out as possible over being interrupted and doubted at the same time. 

Frodo in turn looked very sorry, but any attempt he may have made at apologising was cut off by the laughter growing in volume from the armchair behind him. The young hobbit turned to see his other uncle seated there, nearly breathless with laughter. The sight caused Frodo's own lips to twitch and Bilbo to sigh.

"I am sorry, Bilbo. I'm just impressed that out of all the young hobbits you've told this tale to, it's your own flesh and blood who would doubt you. The rest of them lapped it up and didn't question a thing." 

"Yes, well you laughing about it will hardly encourage him to believe me now, will it?" Frodo was treated to the sight of his Uncle Bilbo actually pouting… or maybe he was just pretending to again. Either way it caused the dwarf sat with them to fumble over another apology and that made Frodo smile. 

Uncle Thorin was always so kind to Bilbo and it always made Frodo's chest feel warm seeing it. They were like his mama and papa in some ways. Thorin looked at Bilbo the same way his papa looked at mama when he thought nobody else was watching; he looked at Bilbo as if he was the most important thing in the entire world. And Bilbo always laughed at Thorin's silly jokes and kissed his cheek, just like mama did to papa. 

Worrying his lower lip despite the grin that curled his lips, Frodo turned beseechingly to Thorin and tugged on his trouser leg to gain his attention. "Did Uncle Bilbo _really_ talk to a dragon? And did he really trick those trolls and free you from the elves?" 

Thorin chuckled and scooped Frodo up into his arms. "Every word your uncle has told you is the truth, _akhûnith_. He is the cleverest and bravest hobbit I've ever met." 

Frodo frowned a little, "except me, right?"

"Oh, of course. Even the Great Bilbo Baggins cannot compare to Frodo the Mighty!" Thorin declared grandly and affectionately nuzzled the young hobbit's cheek, causing him to squeal with laughter over the tickling of the dwarf's beard. 

"Playing favourites, I see how it is." Frodo gasped and turned to see that Uncle Bilbo suddenly looked very sad, and in his haste to scramble off Thorin's lap and launch himself at the older hobbit to give him a hug, he entirely missed the grin and wink Bilbo sent Thorin.

"No, no, you're my favourite uncle too, Bilbo!" Frodo's voice was so earnest that it was difficult for Bilbo to keep up the guise very long and only proved impossible when his beloved idiot rose from the chair to join in, pulling both Bilbo and Frodo into his embrace.

"That's right, Frodo. Bilbo is everyone's favourite."

"Ack, no, put me down, you'll squish me you daft dwarf." 

The sight of his Uncle Bilbo red in the face and fighting back laughter only served to amuse Frodo and he giggled at the sight. However, as was often the way with children, Frodo quickly grew bored of the adults' antics and remembered that the story had been completely interrupted, something that the fauntling just couldn't stand. He needed to know what happened next! 

"But Uncle Bilbo how did you escape the dragon?" 

Setting the two hobbits back on their feet, Thorin realised it would be best to make himself scarce so that Bilbo could continue his story without any risk of further interruption from him. 

"I'll go make us some tea," he smiled, pressing his lips to Bilbo's temple and ruffling Frodo's unruly hair as he passed. 

The dwarf had barely left the room when he heard Bilbo begin to speak again, voice raising high then pitching low, excitable and fearful all at once as he drew Frodo into the exciting tale. He truly was an excellent storyteller. 

Setting cups and saucers on a tray, Thorin winced as he heard mention of the Arkenstone, and couldn't help but hope that Bilbo might… edit certain parts of the story a little. Not that he'd want the hobbit to outright lie to little Frodo, goodness no, but Thorin feared that if Frodo knew the whole truth the little one might fear or hate him, and Thorin wasn't sure his heart could take that. He adored Frodo's company when the lad visited, and he was almost certain that such a revelation might result in Frodo no longer wishing to interact with him at all. 

He'd deserve it but… 

Thorin returned just as Bilbo reached the part with his betrayal of the Arkenstone, and so lingered in the doorway, heart clenching with worry in order to listen. 

"… So Uncle Thorin said he didn't want you there anymore?" Frodo was frowning, eyes sad on Bilbo's behalf.

"Yes, but he didn't mean it. The gold had made him sick and say things he didn't really mean." Frodo frowned at the explanation, but Bilbo was quick to elaborate. "Do you remember in the winter you got a fever whilst you were staying at the Gamgee's for the night?" Frodo nodded and Bilbo continued. "The fever you had made you feel kind of grumpy didn't it, and when little Samwise wanted to play a game you told him you didn't want to play with him anymore and to go away, but you didn't mean that did you." 

Frodo's eyes widened at the memory and he shook his head emphatically. "No! Sam's my best friend! I really like him; I always want to play with him." 

"That's right. It was only because you were sick and not thinking straight that you said it. It was the same for poor Uncle Thorin."

Understanding dawned on Frodo's face and he turned to see Thorin standing cautiously at the door. 

It was a good thing Thorin had the presence of mind to set aside the tea tray, because Frodo was quick to clear the distance between them and wrap his arms around Thorin's legs in a tight hug, which nearly toppled the dwarf. 

"You got sick too, Uncle Thorin? I'm so sorry, it's horrible being sick 'cause it makes you sad, right?" Frodo's voice was muffled by the fabric of Thorin's trousers as he hugged him tight, and the youngster didn't notice the dwarf meet Bilbo's gaze with slightly wet eyes to quietly mouth 'thank you'.

Thorin had managed to compose himself by the time Frodo released him, and true to form, the little hobbit had his mind firmly fixed on the next part of the story again. "So what happened next?"

"Well, then there was the battle!" Bilbo grinned and picked up Frodo's wooden sword with a flourish, brandishing it dramatically. 

"A battle!? A real battle like in the books?" 

"Yes, indeed. Your Uncle Thorin was very brave in the fight too don't you know. He managed to get rid of sickness and charged onto the battlefield to defend all his friends against the evil orcs!" Bilbo made a show of sweeping the sword this way and that, striking at imaginary foes as Frodo cheered loudly at the spectacle. 

"Ah, but you forgot to mention that you were there also, Bilbo." Finding his voice, though it was still a little hoarse, Thorin joined in, stepping up beside Bilbo. "Your Uncle Bilbo ran all the way from Dale to Ravenhill so that he could warn Fíli, Kíli, Dwalin, and me about the other army coming to attack from the north. The whole way your uncle dodged dangerous foes and threw rocks at them, so he could reach us on time. He was very brave as well."

Frodo turned from one uncle to the other, eyes shining with admiration as the pair continued the story, miming out key scenes of the tale together. 

By the time the story was finished, young Frodo was practically bouncing in his seat, and Thorin had the distinct impression that Primula might twist their ears when she came to collect him for making him far too excitable. 

It was only after Frodo left for the evening that Bilbo fell into contemplative silence as he tidied the parlour. 

"Is something bothering you, Bilbo?" Thorin picked up a few discarded books in order to take them back to the study, but paused when he noticed Bilbo's thoughtful expression.

"Hm? Oh! No, no not at all. I was just wondering if maybe it's time to actually write our story down rather than telling it verbally all the time. It would certainly keep things more consistent." 

"That sounds like a good idea." 

"You don't mind me doing so? I wasn't quite sure whether telling Frodo about the stone and the sickness was the right thing to do…" 

"It's the truth, it deserves to be told."

"Yes but… you looked so upset when you were stood in the doorway-" 

"That shouldn't matter. I did terrible things whilst under the sickness, Frodo deserved to know." 

"You're punishing yourself for it again, dearest. Besides, you heard Frodo yourself. You were sick, you weren't aware of your actions, and Frodo understood that perfectly." Bilbo had given up on the cleaning so he could wrap his arms around Thorin and smile reassuringly up at him. "None of it was your fault, and Frodo just proved that point today." 

"He did," Thorin's smile was warm as he held Bilbo close. "And you proved just what an impressive storyteller you could be. I really do think you should write it all down." 

"Very well then, I shall. After all, it's certainly a story worth telling."


	20. T is for Trust

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A bit short I think, I was watching BotFA BTS from the extended edition, and hoo boy was that a wild ride of emotions! So I'm afraid my writing might be a wee bit out of it today XD
> 
> As to the theme. I believe this might be the lovely avelera's headcanon? Or not, I can't quite recall. I just remember someone saying that the dwarves of Erebor probably had to resort to being pretty crafty and dishonest in order to survive whilst in exile. As such, it probably didn't help the whole 'greedy dwarves' attitude and general disregard other races had for them, poor things. So yes, this headcanon has been pinched from someone and I hope they don't mind too much.
> 
> Also, I know that quote at the start is Gimli's from LotR, but hey he probably picked it up from someone, right? Why not dear ol' dad?

There was something to be said about dwarves in that their loyalty and sense of familial bonds were the strongest of any race in Middle Earth.

"Faithless is he who says farewell when the road darkens", Bilbo had once heard Glóin utter one night. It had been during their quest, and Bilbo had bemoaned their run of luck that day with particular enthusiasm; sounding for all the world as if he might turn back home there and then. 

And the hobbit had felt no uncertain amount of shame then. True, he was not built hardy like a dwarf, nor was he used to an adventurous way of life, but he did like to think he was a hobbit of his word. To hear that due to his complaints Glóin thought he was disloyal; well it stung quite a bit.

And so Bilbo had vowed henceforth to prove himself worthy of trust.

But the dwarves. His dwarves were some of the most trustworthy folk he'd ever met. 

Steadfast and loyal to a fault, honest and true. Despite the scorn dwarves faced by the other races, they were certainly the best in Bilbo's opinion.

He was surprised to find that not all the dwarves shared his high estimation of themselves however.

Thorin, after hearing Bilbo give a particularly rude man a very thorough dressing down regarding his sour opinion of dwarves, actually pulled the hobbit aside with a perplexed expression marring his face.

"What are you doing?"

"I'm giving that miserable idiot a piece of my mind. Did you not hear the way he was talking about you all? If he wishes to run your names through the dirt like that, well, then he'll have to deal with me." Bilbo had drawn himself up to his full height then, and actually tried to nudge his way passed Thorin in order to go and confront the man again.

"Bilbo, no."

The hobbit was surprised to find a restraining hand on the crook of his elbow as Thorin prevented him from continuing his lecture. Since when had Thorin Oakenshield ever shied away from defending others or standing up for what he believed in? Certainly not in all the years Bilbo had known him.

"Thorin, he was calling your kin a band of thieving, greedy, barbarians. He said that your kind were a blight on Middle Earth! You surely can't expect me to stand here and let him say such things." 

Thorin winced at the insults, but did not show any of his usual fire to refute them. Instead, he ducked his head, eyes lowered as if ashamed. "He probably holds no trust in us. That is the usual reasoning behind such words spoken against me and my kin."

"Why would he not trust a dwarf?" Bilbo's voice was nearly incredulous, though he did stop trying to pry his arm from Thorin's grip considering the man had already disappeared into the crowds of Bree's marketplace.

"Because my kind has often proven to be untrustworthy, Bilbo."

"Well that's a load of poppycock if ever I heard it. Thorin, in all the time I've known dwarves you've never done anything to make me doubt your word as truth."

Thorin muttered something that sounded suspiciously like 'dragon sickness' and Bilbo _tsked_ before adding, "An extenuating circumstance brought about by curses and illness. You and your folk have _never_ given me a reason to doubt your good hearts."

"But we have to others," for all Thorin's voice was thick with regret, he still linked his arm gently through the hobbit's and continued to walk through the marketplace with him as they had been doing before the little spat with the ill mannered man. 

"You'll have to explain that one I'm afraid, Thorin. What could you have possibly done to warrant that- that foul slander?"

Even though the dwarf seemed heavy hearted following the meeting with the man, there was a fond smile threatening to curl his lips at Bilbo's earnest tone. It was amusing really, how much had changed. One upon a time, Bilbo would have been hard pressed to find anything kind to say about dwarves following a fateful raid on his pantry.

Nodding in acquiesce of Bilbo's request to explain, Thorin reluctantly began to tell the hobbit of the reasons why his kind were so often looked down upon. "After Erebor was lost, we were homeless wanderers as you already know. However, we found no help from elves or men. They had heard of our plight, but for some reason assumed that we would have had time to gather up valuable belongings, gems, and coin before we fled the mountain." 

Bilbo scoffed, and Thorin inclined his head again. It was preposterous of course, but rumours tended to spread easily and gain a substance of their own after a very short amount of time.

"We were overcharged wherever we went, and those of us hired on for work were only ever paid the bare minimum. We were struggling. In order to survive we had to resort to… underhanded means to make do." 

Bilbo kept his gaze locked on Thorin, and an encouraging squeeze to his hand let the dwarf know that the hobbit was listening intently. 

"We would sell shoddily made goods. Make weapons and horseshoes from cruder, cheaper metal, and sell 'em at a higher price to make ends meet. The repair work we offered was half-hearted at best, and if any soul were naïve enough to pay us before a task was begun… well then they often found themselves out of pocket and the dwarf they employed would have long gone by the time they realised what was afoot." 

Changed indeed. Had Thorin told Bilbo this upon their first meeting; Bilbo would have been scandalised and maybe even sided with the rude man. However, much had passed between them since, and Bilbo stopped in his tracks with a sad frown twisting his lips instead. 

"Thorin, you all did only what anyone would do given such a desperate situation. You had mouths to feed and people to keep clothed and safe; you needed the money. It's only natural if folk were overcharging you that you'd have to find a way to compensate that, even if the methods were as you say 'underhanded'. I'd like to see men or elves, or even a hobbit, do any different." He finished stoutly and turned his hand in Thorin's slightly to intertwine their fingers.

"If only others would see it from that perspective. There's still plenty out there, like that man, who presume we can no longer be trusted as a race due to past transgressions." 

"Well they're fools." Bilbo wrinkled his nose and sniffed in disdain. "Dwarves are a fine lot, even when they do eat you out of house and home." 

Thorin finally smiled properly at that, and Bilbo was quick to add, "Besides, it's not like I'm any better. I've always looked out for myself, until I met you lot of course, then I think… I _hope_ I began to change for the better. What I mean to say is though… given half a chance I probably would have betrayed anyone's trust if I thought it would save my own skin or improve my situation." 

"But you didn't," Thorin looked offended on Bilbo's behalf at such an assessment, and his scramble to defend him from his own criticisms made Bilbo's heart flutter. "There were many times such a chance arose during our quest, and you did not betray us once." 

"Well then, if you can say such lovely things about me, at least allow me to do the same. Your race _is_ trustworthy and nothing some foul mouthed cretin can say will change that opinion for me." 

"You trust me?" Bilbo was tempted to lightly smack the dwarf upside the head for even needing to ask, but one look at the hopeful and sincere expression on Thorin's face made Bilbo realise that he really was asking, he truly did doubt anyone could trust him and it made Bilbo's heart ache. 

"With my life." He replied resolutely and unable to resist, asked as well, "and do you trust me?" 

"With my life also."


	21. U is for Umbrella

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dwarves don't have a need for umbrellas in their mountains, and if they do venture outside they'll use a nice practical cloak thank you very much. Thus, Thorin is a little bewildered when he's given an umbrella to use for the first time.

"Bilbo, what in the wide world is this?" Thorin frowned, his face an amusing mix between confusion and mild distaste. 

"What do you mean 'what is this'? It's my umbrella! Hamfast told me it's liable to rain heavily within in the next few hours, so since you're planning on going to the orchard I think you'd better take it with you." 

Thorin had been halfway out Bilbo's front door when the oddity had been thrust at him, and he turned it over now in his hands, trying to figure out precisely what it was meant to be used for. 

Bilbo had mentioned rain so… something to do with that he supposed. Was it some sort of device hobbits used to predict impending bad weather? No… no that didn't seem right, it was far too big to be used for such a purpose. 

Trying not to let his bewilderment show too much, Thorin nodded his head at the hobbit in a grateful manner and made his escape before Bilbo could realise that Thorin actually had no notion at all of what he was supposed to do with this 'umbrella'.

Down the path he wandered, casting surreptitious glances at the contraption in his hand all the while. It was an odd thing, this umbrella. A long pole with a handle which had a waxed fabric of some description wrapped all around it. He'd been living in the Shire for just a handful of weeks now, and he'd yet to come across anything like this. It was interesting… odd undoubtedly, but interesting. 

Running a hand across the fabric, Thorin came across a small buckle, which, out of sheer curiosity, he loosened. The fabric flapped free of its confines, and for a slightly worrying moment, the dwarf wondered if he'd inadvertently broken it. 

No, it seemed fine, no rips or tears. Thorin hummed, the bone-deep dwarven love of artisanship of any kind getting the better of his cautiousness, and so began examining the umbrella closer.

After a minute or so of standing at the side of the path and turning the object this way and that, Thorin had it figured out (and actually felt a little silly for being so uncertain of it in the first place). It was a simple mechanism, but quite clever. One held the handle and pushed a runner up and over a little spring at the bottom. The runner would then move up the pole and a set of ribs attached to both pole and fabric would stretch out to produce a vaguely bowl shaped canopy. The runner would clip into place at the top of the pole, and the umbrella would stay open. 

Thorin hummed again contemplatively, admiring the handiwork that had gone into the odd little contraption. Now it was open, its purpose was clear. It was to protect its owner from the rain; when held aloft, it would work much like a hood over the head. Interesting to be sure, but rather impractical in his opinion. Why would you design something that would force its user to give up the use of one hand, when a simple cloak would suffice?

 _Hobbits_ , he thought with fond exasperation and a mental shrug before collapsing the umbrella again and carrying on down the path. The sky was clear and a brilliant shade of blue, he doubted very much he'd need the umbrella at all.

 

* * *

 

Thorin had just finished gathering his first armful of apples when he realised there was a slight problem. In trying to escape from having to admit to Bilbo that he didn't know what an umbrella was, he'd forgotten the basket to carry the apples in. 

The dwarf huffed irritably and wiped his brow with his sleeve. So much for rain, the sun was almost too warm for him to bear. Blasted umbrellas, he didn't even need the dratted thing and all it had done was cause trouble because now he couldn't- oh! Well it wasn't the intended purpose but… 

Setting down the apples, Thorin picked up the umbrella that he'd left leaning against one of the trees and opened it, turning it upside down. It wasn't exactly a basket, but it was sturdy enough to hold the apples. Perfect! 

Whistling a tune to himself, Thorin placed the apples into the upturned umbrella and went to fetch some more. 

It was a fine day, so Thorin had taken his time in choosing which apples to pick, and so it came as rather a rude surprise when the first raindrops started to patter around him a short time later. 

Looking up at the sky, Thorin grumbled and scowled up at the dark, heavy clouds he could have sworn hadn't been there just a few minutes ago. Typical, he'd left without a basket or cloak, and now the umbrella which would have sheltered him from the rain was being used as a basket instead. 

Well, he supposed it wouldn't be too bad. He'd just have to run back to Bag End, the rain wouldn't be too heavy, he was certain.

 

* * *

 

The rain was heavy!

The deluge that all but swamped him had started mere moments after he'd picked up the umbrella-basket, and now Thorin was jogging back up the path to Bag End, head bowed against the rain as it thoroughly soaked him. 

Not even bothering to knock, the dwarf pushed open the door to Bag End and shut it behind him again, blinking water out of his eyes as he dripped steadily onto the hallway tiles. 

"Thorin is that- what- what happened to you!?" Bilbo's head had peeked around the parlour entranceway at the sound of the door closing and his expression transformed from questioning to dismayed amusement in the blink of an eye. 

"I may have forgotten my cloak," the dwarf grit out, trying to push his sopping fall of hair away from his face. 

"But I gave you the umbrella what happened to-" 

"I may have also forgotten the basket for the apples." 

"The basket…" Bilbo's eyes flicked down to the floor where Thorin had unceremoniously dumped the umbrella filled with apples and had to clap a hand to his mouth to prevent himself laughing outright at the dwarf. 

Thorin glowered, though the look held no real anger. If he was being honest with himself, Bilbo had every right to laugh at him. And laugh Bilbo did, great peals of laughter and snatches of breathy wheezing that Thorin was sure would be seen as 'most unbecoming' by some of Bilbo's relations. 

Managing to catch his breath and wiping away tears of mirth, the hobbit approached Thorin and patted his arm consolingly, cringing a little at the cold rainwater. "You daft thing, you forget the basket so made do with an umbrella only to get drenched for your troubles."

"I really don't see what's so funny," Thorin attempted to look aloof, rather difficult given his bedraggled appearance. "I managed to get the apples you wanted, and good apples they are too." 

"Oh, you did, yes. I just hadn't imagined you'd go to such lengths to get them," he winked to show he was merely jesting. "You could have just come back again when you found yourself without a basket and gone back to the orchard tomorrow. The apples could wait." 

Thorin harrumphed and pretended to ignore Bilbo, but the twitching of his lips made it all too apparent that he wasn't the least bit offended. 

Bilbo played along all the same. "They're lovely apples, dear. You did well in getting them," the hobbit cooed but still rolled his eyes at the theatrics. 

Thorin looked mollified and tilted his head curiously, as he watched Bilbo sort through the apples at his feet approvingly. "I wanted to ask you; why have your people designed that umbrella thing anyway? Aren't cloaks a lot more practical?" 

Bilbo blinked up at him in confusion and then gave his reply as he wandered over to one of the store cupboards to retrieve a towel for Thorin to dry off with. The poor thing couldn't very well just stand in the hallway to drip dry. "I wondered why you looked so perplexed when I gave it to you; you mean to say dwarves don't use umbrellas?" 

"No, I'd never seen the like until today."

Bilbo handed him the towel and the dwarf immediately started rubbing at his hair. "Well to answer your question then; cloaks are a lot more practical yes. However, the summers here in the Shire are very warm, and if we wandered around in cloaks when we get these summer storms we'd likely boil under them. Umbrellas were designed so we could keep dry when the summer rains came, but didn't have to overheat under extra layers." 

"Ah, that makes sense," Thorin's voice was muffled by the towel and Bilbo chuckled at the state his hair was being worked into, he'd offer to brush it for him once he was dry. "Mountains never get as warm as what you experience here, so a cloak at any time of year is acceptable." 

Bilbo made a non-committal noise of agreement and vaguely studied the apples again. Thorin really had done well, there was plenty there to last them, and all very nice. "You're an odd one, dearest; thinking to use an umbrella like this." It wasn't so far-fetched an idea, but Bilbo did like to tease. 

Probably should have left the teasing for later though, because no sooner had Bilbo straightened from his half crouch was he engulfed from behind in a freezing and very wet embrace, which caused him to squawk at the shocking chill. 

"Don't you dare-" 

"Don't dare to do what, _ghivashel_." Thorin grinned, pressing cold nose and lips to Bilbo's cheek. 

Bilbo squirmed but Thorin held firm, nuzzling and clinging until the hobbit was as soaked as he was.

The umbrella full of apples lay forgotten for some time after that.


	22. V is for Vibrant

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bilbo experiences the woes of writer-block (or at very least being unable to remember a particular word), Balin is shipper trash, and Thorin is an adorable pond monster (do I win anything for a very odd summary?).

Bilbo had always praised himself on being something of a master of words. It was just in his nature. From a very young age, the hobbit had had a proclivity and effortless flair for the written word in general; be it poems, stories, or songs. 

Today though, words seemed to be failing him. 

He had been writing and for once, he had not been ensconced in his study, but rather outside beneath the oak above Bag End. It was far too warm a day to be holed up inside and so Bilbo had abandoned the stuffy room in favour of getting some fresh air, taking his book, inkwell, and quill with him. 

Writing however, was proving to be an impossibility. He was blaming this stroke of writer's block solely on the company he was keeping today. After all, how could one expect to write about the dramatic entrance of a Very Important Dwarf, when said dwarf was currently acting completely differently from when he'd first laid eyes upon him? 

Frodo and a small troop of fauntlings (young Samwise from next door amongst them, Bilbo noted) were running and shrieking in delight as they were pursued by Thorin.

At least it looked _vaguely_ like Thorin, Bilbo observed with amusement. The normally noble dwarf had been swathed in a cloak; the garment was far too short on the tall dwarf though, and the fabric was indistinguishable owing to the multitude of twigs and leaves that had been pushed through the thread. Atop Thorin's head were more twigs, woven into his hair much like a certain Elvenking's crown, or a set of antlers, Bilbo supposed. To complete the picture, Thorin's face (and clothes, Bilbo spied in dismay), had been smeared with mud and… for goodness' sake, was that _pondweed_ hanging draped over his arms!? 

"Should I even bother to ask what they're up to?" the question was aimed at the other three dwarves who had chosen to accompany him beneath the tree. Fíli and Kíli were of no help in answering, as they had long given into near hysterical laughter at the sight of their uncle.

Balin on the other hand was composed enough to reply, though his beard was twitching suspiciously. "Last I heard they'd named Thorin 'the Monster of the Duck Pond' and insisted he play the villain in their game. I believe they're _supposed_ to be trying to slay him, but clearly their commander in chief has failed them" (here he pointed out Frodo who was wearing an upturned bowl on his head like a helmet and laughing so hard Bilbo was certain he'd get hiccups at any moment) "and their ranks have fallen into disarray."

Shaking his head fondly, Bilbo lowered his head again to read over the last paragraph he'd written and lifted his quill, poised over the page. He wrinkled his nose and grit his teeth, spared another glance at the ridiculous former king of Erebor, and gave up completely. There would be no more writing today. Every time he tried to recall Thorin in all his stately majesty from that long ago night, all he could picture was a grinning fool covered in foliage. 

Heaving a sigh, Bilbo picked up a scrap of parchment he'd brought with him to blot ink and decided to doodle on that instead. He quickly sketched out the scene; foolish dwarf and laughing children, and then paused when his mind failed to supply the word to best describe Thorin. 

Writer blocked indeed, how tedious. 

Thorin was happy to be sure, he was lighter and enjoying himself, anyone could see that. There was a specific word he wanted to use though, and every time he felt his mind ghost over the right word, it eluded him like water trickling through his fingers. 

There was never a more frustrating feeling for a writer than this.

Snorting in self-derision, Bilbo turned the parchment and began scratching down the words that might be correct. 

Happy? Yes, he'd established that, but it wasn't so much an emotion as… 

Dashing? Thorin was certainly that, but not the word he wanted to use for this particular moment (the pondweed rather detracted from that… just the tiniest bit). 

Determined? No, no that wasn't it at all. Determined had been Thorin on their quest. This was not the same. 

Energetic… possibly, but that wasn't quite enough. It had the same meaning but meant _more_ than that. 

By now, Balin had noticed the furious motion of the quill on parchment, and with nary a care for decorum the dwarf leant over Bilbo's shoulder to see what he was writing. 

The elderly dwarf spied the rough sketch of Thorin first, and then the hastily scribbled and crossed out words beneath it. He smiled indulgently. 

Vivacious? That was… that was close but not quite… 

"I think the word y'looking for is 'vibrant', lad." 

Bilbo's head shot up like a rabbit who'd caught scent of a fox, and Balin chuckled at the surprise writ on his features. 

"O-oh, yes that's… hm, I believe that might be it." Bilbo's face was aflame at being caught, and he quickly scrawled 'vibrant' beneath his sketch.

Balin grinned, settling back against the tree trunk to watch as Fíli and Kíli worked in tandem to help the young hobbits 'fell the foul beast from the pond'. A task which apparently involved them hiding across from one another at the pathway with a length of vine between them ready to trip the 'monster' when he came prowling. The hobbits were hidden nearby trying to stifle giggles at the trap that had been set. Balin wasn't concerned for his former king; he'd have a soft enough landing on the grass… Fíli and Kíli might have to run to escape a loud scolding though. 

Vibrant, Balin mused, certainly suited their leader now. Back in Ered Luin he'd been less inclined to such vitality and animated silliness. Once Fíli and Kíli had reached a certain age, his old friend had become stoic and lost in memory. No longer the prince who had always been willing to share in a joke and a prank back in Erebor. 

The quest had returned some of that fire to Thorin, but following the sickness and the battle it had guttered once more. 

Now though, now Balin could see the good this place had done him. From what his old eyes could see, Shire living suited Thorin very well. 

Bilbo seemed inclined to agree with Balin's unspoken thoughts, and had brought his knees up to his chest, resting his chin on them as he watched Thorin now chasing Fíli and Kíli instead. The hobbit's face was utterly smitten, his gaze soft and smile warm. 

Balin tried not to grin too broadly, but could not resist teasing a little, eyes twinkling mischievously. "Part of his vibrancy is down to you, y'know." 

"Wha- I… no no no, Balin that's not -ah…" Giving an undignified little squeak, Bilbo gave up trying to form a coherent answer and hid his face in his knees, the tips of his ears very pink. 

Balin laughed quietly, deciding that the word probably applied to Bilbo too. The pair of them were so much more full of life now they'd found each other.


	23. W is for Warg Pups

** **Spoiler alert!!!** Sooo this may or may not end up being a scene in my fic 'One Small Thing…' I just really wanted to write out this (very short) scene, but it may spoiler a _huge_ portion of the plot? Therefore, I am somewhat unsure about posting it. Let's leave it as; if you're reading my other fic and don't want to be spoilered to events that will occur in the timeline at some point, don't read this entry… sorry! ^^;

 

Anyway, at some point in the story, I planned to have Bilbo take pity on an injured warg and nurse him back to health (much to the dwarves' chagrin). The warg naturally feels indebted to Bilbo, and slowly becomes fond of the Company (doesn't get along too well with Thorin though, haha). Eventually the warg settles near Erebor, finds himself a mate, and lo and behold wee warg puppies <3 Bilbo is more smitten than Thorin about this turn of events X3 … I just really like the idea of 'good' wargs okay!? D8**

 

* * *

 

"They're actually rather sweet, don't you think?" 

Thorin wasn't entirely sure he could answer that question and not be branded a liar. Pups of other species were usually very appealing this much was true. Warg pups however… they were rather scrawny, lanky in frame and had barely any softness to speak of. As for the fur, well… he'd thought their adult counterparts looked ragged, but the pups certainly won if it were a contest in looking the most unkempt and threadbare.

The pup nearest to him snuffled in its' sleep and curled into a tighter ball, tufts of the somewhat patchy looking fluff that covered its' body sticking up in every direction. 

If Bilbo noticed the shabby appearance of the newborn pups, he clearly ignored it, for the hobbit was beaming and looking over each warg pup with open adoration. 

Liulfr sat nearby, his face sporting the smuggest expression Thorin had ever witnessed on another creature. The warg's whip thin tail thudded against the ground as he soon found the hobbit had thrown his arms about his ruff in glee. "Congratulations, Liulfr, you must be proud." 

Ylva had curled herself around her pups in a protective gesture whilst she slept, and at Bilbo's enthusiastic congratulations, she woke, raised her head and curled her lip a little in warning. The hobbit immediately realised his error and turned to her, bowing politely as he apologised. "Terribly sorry, my dear. I didn't mean to be so loud." 

Placated, the she-warg settled back down, eyes closing with a huffed sigh as Bilbo reached out at scratch behind one of her small ears. 

"And congratulations to you as well, as I'm certain you've done more hard work than this old flea-bag." Bilbo's voice was tinged with amusement as he nodded his head back towards Liulfr. 

Ylva's sleepy gaze held amusement of her own, and behind them Bilbo heard the offended rumble of Liulfr. The hobbit chuckled and winked at him, causing the male warg to snort. 

Thorin felt he would probably always be surprised at the easy way the hobbit conversed with what was essentially two wild animals, and formerly cohorts with their enemies no less. Yet somehow, their burglar seemed to make it look simple. 

He watched as Bilbo cooed over the small bundles of fluff once more, even going so far as to tickle one of the pups gently with a forefinger under Ylva's watchful gaze. Turning to the male warg, Thorin awkwardly mumbled that he'd see about having some of the hunters leave them an offering of some meat the next time they left the confines of Erebor. With the encroaching snows soon to reach the mountain, decent spoils would be thin on the ground for the warg family.

Liulfr, for once, looked grateful about what Thorin had to say and inclined his massive head in some semblance of thanks. 

Bilbo, hearing their exchange, grinned over his shoulder at the pair and straightened from his crouch before the now dozing she-warg and pups. "That's a good idea, Thorin. I doubt either of them will be able to do much hunting in the bad weather, what with these little ones to keep warm." 

Their visit only lasted a short while longer, and soon Thorin and Bilbo were tramping back down from the cave in the snow. It was already a few inches deep, and that first flurry had been earlier than Erebor was accustomed to, if Thorin's memory was correct.

As if reading his thoughts, Bilbo turned to Thorin with a concerned expression on his face, worrying his lower lip with his teeth. "The snows never usually start this early. I remember you saying so…" 

"They are a little earlier than I recall, you're concerned about Liulfr, Ylva, and the pups?" Thorin correctly guessed as he navigated a small hill in the terrain hidden by snow, and took hold of Bilbo's hand to guide him down. 

"Yes," he admitted. "What if the cave just isn't enough shelter? Or food is too hard to come by? I'd hate to see any of the pups die."

"They're wargs, Bilbo. I'm sure they know how to survive a winter in the wild. They've both done it for years before meeting you, after all." 

"Well yes, but still…" Bilbo trailed off, turning to give Thorin a truly pitiful look. 

The dwarf king nearly groaned, clearly Kíli had been teaching the hobbit _that look_. "Don't… don't even think about it." Thorin buried his face in his hands to escape those wide eyes and nearly tripped for his trouble. 

Bilbo stifled a giggle and patted Thorin's arm affectionately. "It would only be for the winter, Thorin. Erebor has plenty of space, and the forges warm the place up a treat. They wouldn't be underfoot or cause any harm, I'm sure of it. I expect Liulfr would even go and help the huntsmen when they went out, Ylva too once she's regained her strength." 

And so went the return trip back down from the cave. Bilbo rattling off all the benefits of having a warg family of all things in Erebor, and assuaging every possible concern the dwarf might have over the arrangement. Thorin's protestations becoming weaker and weaker, until finally he relented. 

"Alright," he grit out, rubbing at his temples. "They can stay in Erebor for the winter. On your head be it if they start eating people though!" 

"Thank you, Thorin." Bilbo surprised him then, stepping in front of him and wrapping his arms around the dwarf in order to hug him gratefully. 

Thorin heaved a sigh and returned the embrace, resting his chin atop Bilbo's curly hair and murmuring a quiet reply. "Just give me a day or two to talk to the council; they're going to need some persuading."

"I can always help with that if you like." Bilbo's voice was far too cheerful regarding this prospect. 

"Hm, just make those puppy eyes at them like you did me; that should work. Maybe teach the trick to your pack of mangy curs as well." 

A soft cry of outrage was uttered by the hobbit at that remark, and he smacked the king's arm lightly in reprimand. "Don't be rude about my wargs." 

Laughing, Thorin stepped back, releasing Bilbo. As warm as it was to be curled around the hobbit like that, they really should be returning before the snow started once more. "Yes, yes, my apologies. Come, let's get back before we freeze out here." 

Bilbo smiled and linked his arm through Thorin's, and the dwarf king decided that if having a pack of wargs around made Bilbo so happy, giving into him couldn't be a completely bad thing.


	24. X is for XXX (Kisses)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's Bilbo's turn to be stumped by something in dwarven culture ;P

Bilbo often found it was the smallest gestures that endeared Thorin to him the most.

Like the little notes he was left on the nightstand when Thorin had to wake and leave early for whatever kingly duties were awaiting him.

They were always heartfelt and thoughtful things, and their presence was always a welcome consolation when he woke alone. They had started out being written in Westron, shortly after Bilbo had agreed to stay in Erebor permanently. However, over time the words on the parchment had slowly included more and more Khuzdûl as Bilbo continued to make progress with his lessons.

Though on occasion, when Thorin could tell that the hobbit felt homesick, he would let them slip back into Westron, and the words there would always hold far more tender endearments and silly little jokes in an attempt to lighten Bilbo's spirit. The irritating thing was that it worked every single time! Bilbo could never sulk or pine for his old home for long when Thorin was so attentive.

Today was no different, Bilbo awoke and reached out beside him only to find empty space and chilled sheets. He wrinkled his nose in distaste of his absent personal dwarf heater, and let his eyes open to blearily rest upon the nightstand. True to form, there was a neatly rolled scroll of parchment resting there, and feeling placated, Bilbo sluggishly pushed himself up into a sitting position so he could reach over and grab the note.

As always, the contents left him smiling in a manner most ridiculous, chest warm and heart fluttering, and he traced the scrawled words with a fingertip in something akin to reverence before he noticed it. They were there again… the funny little runes.

On every note he'd ever received from Thorin, the dwarf always ended his note in the same manner; with love, and then for some odd reason three X's.

Bilbo's brow furrowed as he puzzled over them for the umpteenth time. Despite extensive research, poring over various tablets and books concerning Khuzdûl, the hobbit had never been able to find a translation or explanation for the marks. He called them runes, for what else could they be? Yet they were not any rune he knew to exist.

Humming quietly to himself, Bilbo reached over to the nightstand again and rummaged in the little drawer to produce one of the notes from last week (the hobbit just couldn't bring himself to throw any of them away), and compared the marks. No, there was no difference there to speak of. The X's were exactly the same, three of them, in a little line underneath Thorin's ever present declaration of love. It was very odd.

And Bilbo was desperate to know what they meant!

Though not so desperate he would ask Thorin outright… the stubborn hobbit was determined to figure this out by himself.

As he reluctantly dragged himself from bed and got dressed, Bilbo recalled he didn't have any prior engagements today, so it only stood to reason that he'd try once more to quell his burning curiosity by spending another day in the library looking up runes and their meanings.

Nodding resolutely to his reflection in the mirror, Bilbo smoothed his tunic and headed for the door, he would find out what these runes meant or bury himself in books trying!

 

* * *

 

Five hours and a missed lunch later, Bilbo let his head thud hopelessly onto an open book as he groaned in near defeat, his stomach gurgling a crescendo of agreement.

From a bookshelf over, Bilbo heard a muffled chuckle and small snort. His head shot up, glaring at the offending stack of books and called out an irritable, "I'd appreciate you not mocking my plight."

A sheepish Ori peeked guiltily around the bookcase and gave Bilbo a very apologetic smile; stepping out from his hiding place and approaching the consort shyly. "I'm so sorry Bilbo, but you've been there _hours_ and that was such a dramatic sound of defeat-"

"Not defeat, it was my war cry don't you know."

"Ah," Ori nodded smoothly, lips tugging up irresistibly despite his battle against his mirth. "A fearsome war cry indeed. I've uttered it myself many a time in this library."

"I'm sure you have, this place is bloody impossible, as much as I love it."

"Very true, might I ask what it is you're searching for though? I might be able to help, being chief librarian and all that." Ori's cheeks had flushed, as they often did when referring to his profession, even after a good year of owning said epithet. The young dwarf was modest and quite shy about his relatively new and elevated position, but frankly Bilbo felt he deserved it, as did all the other Company members who had gained new jobs after the quest.

"Well, it's kind of you to offer but I was rather hoping to muddle through on my own. A sense of accomplishment, you know." Bilbo replied, though his resolve was definitely weakening.

Ori could obviously tell. "Bilbo, there's a difference between accomplishment and torturing yourself," he teased. "I've seen you here far too many times and not making any headway with whatever task you've given yourself. There's no harm in someone helping, is there?"

"Not really, no," Bilbo sighed and ran a hand through his curls, mussing them even further than they had been already. "It's just my pride not allowing me. Thorin and Balin have been such good tutors when it came to learning Khuzdûl, and the fact there's this- this rune I can't decipher makes it feel as if I've let them down somehow."

Ori's smile was fond and he patted Bilbo consolingly on the shoulder before speaking. "You've done remarkably in so short a time, Bilbo. Khuzdûl is a very difficult language to learn, all the more considering we're so secretive about it. I doubt they'd expect you to know every single word just yet."

Bilbo sighed and let his head fall back onto his folded arms again, staring at the book under his nose once more, though he was smiling now. "Well then, I suppose a little help wouldn't be amiss."

From is pocket he produced one of the notes, but was careful to fold it over so that Ori would not read the rather soppy words Thorin had written, Bilbo feared the poor dwarf king would die of embarrassment if he knew. Tracing a finger along the three runes, Bilbo turned beseechingly to Ori, only to see that the young dwarf had hidden a smile behind his hand and was trying very hard not to chuckle. "These are the- what's so funny?"

"Nothing, nothing," Ori waved his hand, lips twitching suspiciously. "It's just… these aren't exactly runes, not in the sense that you'd learn traditionally anyway."

Bilbo's scowl over Ori's laughter softened at that revelation and he shook his head in disbelief over all the time he'd wasted. "Well- no wonder I couldn't find the blasted things in any of these books then."

"Yes, you'd have been searching forever and a day and not found it here. The symbol is- well I suppose the best explanation for it is a pictogram of sorts. It's an oddity that's occurred over the years and isn't actually part of our language per se. As such, we've never had cause to document it. It's just something we use informally."

"I see… so what does it mean?" Bilbo was not above asking now that he knew it would be near impossible to find out on his own.

"Ah, I'm not entirely sure I should be the one to tell you," Ori flushed and Bilbo suddenly felt a sense of foreboding, he fervently hoped it didn't mean anything crude… and if it did he'd nag Thorin silly _and_ confess to him that he'd shown the note to Ori in revenge, let him stew on that a little. 

"R-right well, ah… I should ask Thorin about it then?" Bilbo found that _he_ was red in the face now, and hurriedly shoved the note back into his pocket before turning his attention to the massive pile of books he had to put back.

"Yes, probably for the best," Ori laughed airily and waved Bilbo away when the hobbit went to pick up the first stack of books. "No need for that, Bilbo. I'll put them back, you go and find Thorin, I'm fairly certain Balin mentioned that his meetings would be finished by now."

"Ah, of course- right, well… I'll be off then. Thank you, Ori," and with that, the hobbit left without further prompting, nearly running into a bookcase in his haste to escape the rather embarrassing situation.

 

* * *

 

"If I have to deal with Thranduil again within the next three months, I swear there will be bloodshed." Thorin was slumped in one of their armchairs when Bilbo returned to their quarters, arm slung across his eyes in a rather melodramatic fashion.

"Just three months? Your tolerance of him is improving, my dear." Bilbo quipped and tried not to grin too widely at the dwarf's misfortune.

"And I return to mocking from the one I thought I could trust above most others, you would betray me and tease so cruelly, _amrâlimê_?" Thorin removed his arm to give Bilbo a reproachful look, full of artificial hurt.

"Only when you're being an overdramatic fool," Bilbo replied easily and softened the verbal blow by leaning over the back of the armchair to drop a kiss on Thorin's forehead.

Thorin huffed but didn't argue Bilbo's assessment of his character, instead he reached up to tug playfully on one of Bilbo's curls before asking, "and what have you been doing with yourself whilst I was suffering the elf's presence?"

"I was in the library actually, trying to decipher something that's been confusing me for quite some time." Now was a good a time as any to ask about the symbol he supposed. Producing Thorin's note from his pocket, Bilbo handed it over before moving from his place behind the armchair to squeeze in beside Thorin on it. "I wanted to know what those symbols you always write mean, but I've not been able to find anything about them in the library."

"Ah, well you wouldn't," Thorin confirmed Ori's conclusion and Bilbo smiled as Thorin's cheeks started to colour. "They're not actually runes or a word of any kind."

"What do they mean then? It's been driving me mad not knowing, I've been searching for ages." He made sure to explain his frustrations fully; elsewise Thorin might think it a fine idea to tease him and not answer.

"They're kisses."

"Sorry?" Bilbo tilted his head in confusion, eyes darting to the parchment Thorin still held. They looked nothing like the dwarven word for 'kiss'… but then Ori had said it was a symbol and not true language…

"Kisses," Thorin repeated, ears turning as pink as his cheeks, and a silly smile gracing his lips. "They're symbols we use to imply kisses. It only feels right that I end my note with them when I cannot be there to give them to you properly."

Oh… well… that was just far too sweet to be allowed!

"You- you write them when you cannot give them?"

"Aye, I'd hate not to," Thorin shouldn't look so smug about this really, it wasn't fair!

"You've written three little kisses every single morning you've woken before me for the past year… and I didn't know it. I've never returned them!" Bilbo grumbled, feeling as if in not knowing this he'd committed some transgression. It just wasn't polite to have received so many kisses and not returned them, he'd have wanted to had he known what it meant.

"Three kisses every single time I've been away… that's quite a lot you owe me, dear one," Thorin teased.

"Oh, I've kept all the notes, I'm sure we can tally up my debt to you," Bilbo replied breezily, but his face was as red as Thorin's.

"You kept them?" Thorin blinked in surprise, a slow and wonderfully smitten grin lighting up his eyes as the words sunk in.

"Of course I did, they're very sweet-"

Bilbo wasn't allowed to continue owing to the fact that Thorin had cupped his cheeks in his hand and pulled him into an enthusiastic kiss there and then.

 

* * *

 

Long minutes later, and quite a bit of Bilbo's debt having been repaid, Bilbo smiled contentedly against Thorin's neck, curled up in his lap and murmured quietly. "I'm very glad they didn't mean anything crude."

"Oh? Why would you think they did?"

"Well Ori's face was very red when he saw the note-"

"Ori saw the note!?"

Bilbo snickered against Thorin's skin as he peeked up at his face to find it was redder than a tomato at this revelation. Truly, his dwarf was the sweetest and most foolish creature in Middle Earth.


	25. Y is for Yule

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A little early for Christmas, but hey, it's always nice to have a Christmassy fic floating about, right?

Before Thorin had met Bilbo, he could quite safely say that the customs of the Shire folk had never piqued his interest whatsoever. He'd thought them a silly, soft race, with no true life experience and entirely too naïve over the horrors the world could hold. 

He had met them only on a few occasions when he had needed to work in Bree or Hobbiton as a smith to keep his people from starving. Every time he had done so, the experience he'd had with the hobbits had left him feeling underwhelmed and more than a little bitter. 

To say then that he knew anything of their culture would be a mistake. Thorin had not spent enough time in a hobbit's presence in order to discuss such frivolous things like cultural practices. 

He'd endured their presence for one thing and one thing only; business. 

Now though, now that Thorin had moved to the Shire with Bilbo, he found himself discovering interesting little titbits of information about the Shire folk on a regular basis. 

Gandalf had once said that one could learn all about the hobbits and their ways within a month, but Thorin personally thought that was rather insulting to the hobbits. Their culture was more varied and certainly more interesting than he or most others in Middle Earth would have given them credit for. 

Today for example, Thorin had returned home from his forge to find that Bilbo had started placing foliage in their smial. 

Warily, Thorin stood by the doorway and watched his hobbit industriously string up garlands of greenery for a few minutes before deciding to question it, "Bilbo? Is there any particular reason you've brought half the garden into our home?" 

"'s fer Yuletide," Bilbo's reply was rather muffled due to the small nails he had clenched between his teeth so as to secure the garlands up from the beams on the ceiling. 

"Yuletide?" 

Securing the garland and stepping down from the chair he'd been using to boost his height, Bilbo wandered over to Thorin and slanted his head curiously at him. "I never told you about Yuletide, did I?" 

"No, I'm afraid not."

"Apologies that was silly of me. Let's go get something to drink and I'll explain it all." 

And so, they sat together before the hearth each sipping a cup of a warm, spiced confection Bilbo called 'mulled wine' as the hobbit explained this Yuletide thing to Thorin in full. Bilbo had presumed it must be a little like Durin's Day for dwarves; in that, it was the celebration of the end of this year and the beginning of the next. The celebrations lasted for six days in total, and it was a time of great merriment and feasting. 

Thorin nodded, smiling into his cup; it certainly sounded like a celebration a dwarf would enjoy, but it didn't quite explain the foliage. 

Bilbo had laughed then at that reply, and explained that for hobbits, bringing greenery into one's home signified hope for the coming spring and how green things endured even through the harshest snows. 

"We bring in greenery and bright berries from the forests; I've yet to bring in a tree to decorate-" 

"A _tree?_ "

"Oh yes, we have little trees planted in pots that we bring into our homes for Yuletide and we decorate them with blown glass ornaments, candles and the like." 

Thorin's lips twitched, "Another tradition?" 

"Yes, and don't tease," Bilbo warned, smiling and reaching over to lightly smack Thorin's knee. "It looks lovely with the trees and the garlands all hung up."

"I'm sure it does. However, I'm rather wondering if you copied this practice from the elves what with all the plant life involved," he shook his head as if disappointed. "A pity you don't adopt dwarven ways instead." 

Bilbo sniffed and swatted him playfully again. "We'd happily do so if you lot weren't so cagey about sharing your culture. Besides, this is not a celebration elves have, so the decorations are not through their influence." 

Thorin pretended to sigh in relief, earning a laugh of long-suffering from Bilbo, before asking, "Do any others celebrate like this?" 

"I believe the Rohirrim do," Bilbo replied between thoughtful sips of his wine, "at least Gandalf has told me as much, they're kin to the Northmen you see, where I believe this celebration started. Folk in Dale might have done so as well, though I'm not certain if their descendents we met in Laketown do so nowadays." 

Thorin rubbed his chin thoughtfully as he tried to remember if he'd ever seen such a celebration from before Erebor fell whilst in Dale, but he could not recall so… at least if they did celebrate this, he couldn't remember trees in houses. 

"It's… interesting," Thorin concluded diplomatically. 

"You think it's odd, I can tell," Bilbo chuckled and nudged Thorin gently in the shin with his foot. 

"Well, I'll admit, I do find it a little odd yes, but it seems as if it could be good fun. Is there anything else you do besides the foliage and the feasting?" 

"Presents," Bilbo answered readily. "On the first day of the new year, we give family and loved ones presents. It's to celebrate the successful passing of another year, and that you wish the recipient well for the next." 

"It sounds like a lovely celebration, I'll be happy to share it with you."

"I'm glad-" 

Their conversation was interrupted by the arrival of Dís, Fíli, and Kíli barging through the door, laden down with packages from the market. 

"Blimey, it's rather chilly out." 

"Hardly! Kí, you have been spoilt by the warm weather here. You've lived in _mountains_ for goodness' sake!" 

"Yes, but what I mean is it's chilly for _here._ " 

"No you didn't, you're just being a wimp." 

"Say that again to my face, you troll." 

"Boys! I swear if I hear you bickering just once more today, I'm packing you back off to Erebor so I can get some peace, and I'll be sure to give instructions to Dáin to work you both to the bone."

A chorus of, "Sorry, mum" came from the pair as they passed by the parlour on the way to the pantry to deposit the food they'd bought. Dís paused to peek her head around the door and apologise on their behalf. 

"Sorry about them, and I really like the Yule decorations, Bilbo. Very festive." 

"Oh?" Bilbo looked mildly surprised, given that Thorin hadn't known about the holiday, he'd expected Dís and the boys to be as equally in the dark. 

"Yes, Master Gamgee was telling us all about it whilst we were at the market. It sounds like a fine thing. I think Fíli and Kíli would enjoy it; any excuse for a celebration, you know how they are."

Bilbo had been about to reply when Fíli and Kíli returned from the pantry, beaming from ear to ear.

"The place looks wonderful, uncle Boggins!" 

"Yes, very nicely done, Bilbo." 

"Er, thank you boys you-" 

"Oh, say, what's that?" Kíli had taken to sniffing like a curious pup at the sweet scent caused by the mulled wine drifting in from the kitchen. 

"Mulled wine, help yourself there's more in the kitch-" Bilbo didn't even get to finish as Kíli whooped and rushed passed them to get to the stuff. 

Thorin sighed heavily, bringing his hand up to his face and shaking his head, though Bilbo could spy the quirking of his lips, and Dís rolled her eyes in good-humoured exasperation. 

Kíli returned shortly with three cups of the mulled wine, handing one to his mother and pretending to keep two for himself, making Fíli grumble. Brotherly love won out in the end though, and as Fíli had huffed and gone to get his own, Kíli had snickered and handed his brother the other cup after all. 

The group fell into quiet chatter as they drank their wine, pausing only to offer greetings as more and more of the Company returned from whatever they'd been doing. 

It had been slightly underhanded of Bilbo if he were honest with himself. He'd sent an invite for everyone in the Company, Dís included, to visit him and Thorin if they had the time. He'd been delighted when every single one of them had managed to come, and it mostly for this very reason; celebrating Yule with Thorin alone would be lovely, but to celebrate it with all his friends would be better still. 

True, having all of them stay at once was a bit of a squeeze, even with owning a smial as large as Bag End, but there was certainly no better feeling than having the home full of loved ones, and Thorin seemed to agree whole-heartedly.

Talk turned to Yule again, as Fíli and Kíli animatedly filled in others in the Company who had not yet heard of it, and Bilbo took the chance to make himself scarce as they were chatting so he could go and get the tree.

 

* * *

 

When he returned it was to find Thorin curiously sorting through the ornaments, and his nephews returning from going to retrieve even _more_ foliage. However, given the sly grins they both wore, Bilbo had a sneaking suspicion they were likely up to mischief. Frankly, it would not surprise him if he shortly heard outraged shouts from the likes of Dori as he discovered a frog in their bed or something equally irritating. 

Choosing to let them be for now and not interrogate them, Bilbo approached Thorin with the small tree and nodded to the ornaments, "We can get started if you like. Tree decorating can be a joint project… though admittedly some folk have very different tastes in decorations, so it can devolve into bickering, I'll warn you right now." 

"Come now, Bilbo. I think we know one another's tastes well enough not to bicker over this." 

Bilbo had smiled warmly and had just started placing the first few ornaments when he spied Thorin hanging the biggest possible bauble right from the top of the tree, the smaller branches bending precariously under its' weight. 

The hobbit opened and shut his mouth a few times, staring incredulously at the bad choice his beloved had made, only to realise Thorin was grinning far too widely at him and simply _waiting_ for a reaction. 

"Don't tease, Thorin! Tree decorating is _very_ serious, I'll have you know." 

"Oh, indeed. It's as delicate as trade negotiations at the very least," Thorin only grinned more, but did remove the offending glass bauble and place it further down the tree where it looked as if it belonged. 

They continued in peace after that, chatting lightly and joking as they worked, Thorin even offering to make Bilbo some more ornaments at the forge some time, an idea that had warmed the hobbit's heart. 

They were only intruded upon once or twice; by Fíli and Kíli nudging them aside so they could hang more garlands from the ceiling. 

"Budge up there, uncles. This place needs even more green stuff!" 

"You don't have to cover the entire ceiling, lads," Thorin had sighed. 

"Oh but it's so pretty! We do have to." 

Bilbo had chuckled and let them get on with it, he wasn't so fussy about his Yuletide decorating that he'd not let the two have a little fun with it. 

It was only a short time later when he heard crowing laughter and shouts of, "Tradition, tradition, it's Shire tradition you have to!" that Bilbo revised his good-hearted opinion and decided that letting Fíli and Kíli do _anything_ was a bad idea for everyone else involved. 

Turning from his and Thorin's work on the tree, Bilbo spied that Ori and Dwalin were stuck in one of the entranceways, the two demon nephews of Thorin taunting them something silly. Poor Ori looked about ready to pass out from embarrassment, and Dwalin was growling at the brothers as if he might charge at them any moment.

Off to one side Balin was shaking his head but trying desperately to keep from smiling, and Dís looked torn between scolding her sons and laughing. 

Nori was muttering something quickly to Glóin, who in turn was jotting something in his ledger and accepting a few coins from Bofur, and Dori was frowning hard from his place on the couch, Bombur patting his arm consolingly. 

The rest of them looked to be highly amused, but trying with varying degrees of success to hide it (nobody liked to antagonise Dwalin after all), and Bilbo could easily see why. 

There was only one particular Shire tradition that involved foliage hung surreptitiously in doorways. 

"Oh dear," he breathed and patted Thorin's arm to gain his attention, nodding above Dwalin and Ori's heads as Dwalin continued to argue with the brothers. "Your dear nephews obviously heard about mistletoe from someone." 

"What's the significance?" Thorin frowned in confusion, though he was having as hard a time as Balin not letting his amusement show at Dwalin's expense. Whatever Fíli and Kíli had told him had caused Thorin's cousin to nearly turn purple in the face; whether through anger, embarrassment or both, Thorin couldn't quite tell. 

"It's a plant we use at Yule to decorate with, but I hadn't included any this year due to the tradition, I thought it might lead to some awkwardness like this," Thorin raised an eyebrow at the reply and Bilbo continued. "When mistletoe is hung, it's tradition that should two people be caught beneath it at the same time, then they should share a kiss." 

"Ah," Thorin's lips twitched as he glanced at Dwalin once more, who was now clenching and unclenching his hands awkwardly as he argued with the two troublemakers.

"Yes, so according to tradition-" 

"Dwalin and Ori should kiss."

"Yes."

Thorin's grin matched his nephews' and Bilbo snickered at the sight of it; he was as bad as they were, though he probably would scold them afterwards purely for appearance sake. "Come along then, Dwalin! Kiss him, you know you want to." 

The sound of Thorin's voice startled Dwalin from his tirade at Fíli and Kíli, and he turned to look at Thorin with a rather feral curl to his lips. 

"You-" 

Whatever words Dwalin had wanted to grace Thorin with were cut off as Ori uttered a helpless squeak, reached out, grabbed Dwalin's tunic and hauled him in for a kiss. He was still very red in the face, but it was quite daring, Bilbo thought.

Clearly, Fíli and Kíli agreed because they began whooping and grabbed one another's hands, dancing foolishly in a circle, "Good work, Ori! We knew you had it in you!" was cheered by Fíli whilst Kíli laughed uproariously.

Dori had dropped his knitting and puffed up like an angry cat, whilst Bifur (who was sat on the other side of Bombur) talked to him quietly in order to calm him down, muttering something that sounded like, "It's just tradition, stop your fussin'." 

The fact that Dwalin was now rather enthusiastically returning the kiss made Bilbo suspect this was a little more than 'just tradition' between them, but he wasn't going to be the fool to tell Dori. 

"My nephews will earn themselves early graves at this rate, but I rather think this was one of their kinder pranks," Thorin smiled at Bilbo's side, and politely turned from the spectacle in order to finish the tree decorating. 

Bilbo went to turn as well, only to be stopped by Fíli's voice, "Now now, uncle Thorin, we can't have you ignoring tradition when dear Dwalin and Ori were respectful enough to observe it!" 

Thorin whipped his head back round to confront his eldest nephew, only to be stopped by Bilbo's exasperated laughter, "I should have known they weren't _truly_ trying to help with the decorating." Bilbo caught Thorin's eye and pointed upwards, the dwarf frowned before looking up and grumbling under his breath at what he saw there. 

"You little brats."

"Aw, we love you too, uncle. You really should kiss Bilbo though, it's bad luck if you don't." Kíli had draped himself over Fíli's back and was smirking as he looked at the pair.

"Very well, the two of you are going to take all of the mistletoe back down afterwards though. Leaving it up will only make traversing from room to room very awkward for everyone else." 

"Yes, yes," Kíli replied with a smile, then added wistfully. "I really have to make sure to take some back to show Tauriel though." 

"Er, Kí, I really don't think it will last that long." 

Kíli pointedly ignored his brother. 

From the doorway, Dwalin called out a sardonic, "Come along then, Thorin! Kiss him, you know you want to." Though judging by the way his fingers were intertwined with Ori's, the tradition hadn't been so nearly as unwanted as he was trying to make them believe.

Despite grumbling over the fact they had an audience, it didn't dissuade Thorin from sweeping Bilbo into a romantic kiss, the hobbit giggling against his lips in surprise, but wrapping his arms around his neck to deepen it all the same.

 

* * *

 

It was much later, as the Company retired to bed, that Bilbo realised the flaw in Thorin's instructions to his nephews. As he entered their shared room, he chuckled helplessly and turned to Thorin who was entering the room just behind him. 

"You er, you told Fíli and Kíli to take down the mistletoe, yes?" 

"Aye, I did…" 

"But you didn't exactly tell them where to put it after," Bilbo pointed out. 

Realising what Bilbo was trying to say, Thorin glanced up before groaning and burying his face in his hands, for covering the entire ceiling of their room was every single sprig of mistletoe the brothers had previously used to decorate the smial. 

"They're receiving nothing from me for Yule, I swear it." 

"Hm, it's not so bad, is it?" Bilbo's eyes fairly sparkled with mischief as he gently pulled Thorin's hands away from his face and tugged him closer for another kiss. "After all it's tradition."


	26. Z is for ZZZ

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I WAS going to draw a picture for this last one, but the scene was proving a bit too much for me to handle and I just wasn't satisfied with the outcome whenever I tried. So the final chapter is another fic. Pure, tooth rotting, domestic fluff (featuring wee Frodo and Sam) as per tradition. Enjoy!
> 
> I'd also like to say a big, BIG thank you to all of you that have viewed every chapter and left such wonderful, kind, and encouraging messages. This challenge was a joy to work on, but you guys made it ten times better by being such sweethearts. 
> 
> Thanks again for reading <3

"Here, shouldn't we wake 'em?" 

"No, no Sam, let's leave them be. They let us take a nap when we're tired." 

"Aye, I know… but they did promise to help us make biscuits," young Sam replied, torn between being polite and letting the two tired adults sleep on, or giving in to his childish desire for sweet treats. 

"Hmm, they did," and now little Frodo was conflicted too, because what fauntling this side of the river would ever pass up the chance to make honey biscuits (and thus get to eat them as well)? 

Frowning as he weighed their options, Frodo rested his chin upon folded arms on the arm of the chair Bilbo and Thorin were curled up in together as he regarded his uncles with gentle fondness. The pair had been gardening all morning whilst looking after Sam and him at the same time and Frodo knew first hand that gardening and dealing with littler ones could be very tiring; so they did deserve a nap. Then again, the promise of biscuits was a tempting lure, and Frodo did wonder if it would be terribly rude if he just so happened to need to cough at that very moment and by chance the sound might waken his dozing uncles. 

Sam stood just off to one side, shifting from foot to foot as his eyes darted from his elder (and therefore far wiser) playmate, and the two adults who were supposed to be teaching them how to bake. He would await Frodo's lead and follow suit. 

In the end, Frodo breathed out a gentle sigh and dropped back down from the balls of his feet. Making to move away from the armchair he paused to shuffle round so he could lean up and press a kiss to both Bilbo and Thorin's foreheads; that's what adults did to fauntlings when they were asleep, right? Therefore, it made sense Frodo should do the same for his uncles. 

"C'mon, Sam, we can go play in the garden a little longer and make the biscuits when they wake up properly on their own. I'm always really grumpy if someone wakes _me_ up from a nap, and I'm sure you are too; we don't want to make Uncle Thorin and Uncle Bilbo sad." 

Sam nodded along sagely to that, and cast another look at the two adults before giggling quietly, "They look like Scraps n' Marmalade all cosied up like that together." 

Frodo giggled as well, covering his mouth to quieten the sound at the mention of Sam's two kittens. The pair were inseparable, and looking again, Uncle Thorin and Uncle Bilbo did remind Frodo of them a little. 

They'd been about to leave the room when Sam spied the blanket, and he tugged on Frodo's hand and then nodded back to the pair in the armchair, "They'll catch a chill sleepin' like that. We should cover them up."

Frodo grinned and nodded, pleased with Sam's observation, and so the pair wrestled as quietly as possible with the large blanket, carrying it between them in order to drape it carefully over Thorin and Bilbo who slept on unawares. 

That done, the two fauntlings went to leave the room, chattering quietly all the way. 

"What should we play then?" 

"We could act out some of Uncle's adventures from the Quest," Frodo suggested thoughtfully. 

"That's a good idea! Oh, but we don't have another twelve of us for the Company… nor anyone to be Gandalf," Sam rubbed his chin as he pondered the problem. 

"We can ask some other folk to join in, and we can just pretend a Gandalf… nobody here is big enough to be him anyway." 

"Right! You should definitely be Thorin." 

"What makes you say that, Sam?" 

"It's yer hair and eyes like. Me mam says you've got the same hair and eyes as your Uncle Thorin." 

Frodo beamed as if paid a compliment, but sobered a little as he remembered something, "I don't have a beard though… and my hair's shorter than Uncle Thorin's." 

"We can make you a beard, and- and we'll pretend those dastardly orcs went and a cut off your hair when you was fighting them!" Sam put on his most ferocious scowl and mimed out a fight with a make-believe sword as if to illustrate such a thing. Let it never be said that Samwise Gamgee did not have a vivid imagination. 

"That could work! Oh, but if I'm to be Thorin you _must_ be Bilbo!" 

"Eh? I'm nothin' like your Uncle Bilbo though… I always thought I was more like that Bofur fellow." 

"Bofur's lovely, but you're really brave and clever like Bilbo, you _have_ to be him, Sam, _pleeease_." 

Sam flushed at the praise and fidgeted before giving Frodo a gap toothed smile, "Alright then, I'll be Bilbo. Now c'mon we've got to find more friends to be the Company!" 

Still talking excitedly, Frodo and Sam left the smial to go and find their own band of brave fighters to take back 'Erebor'. 

Back inside, Thorin tried very hard not to laugh lest he wake his husband. Instincts had woken him the moment the heavy blanket had settled around his shoulders and he'd overheard the entire conversation between the two little ones whilst maintaining the guise of sleeping. 

Let the pair go and play their game now that they were so enthusiastic about the idea, he thought to himself. They would be fine running about the hill with their other friends for a while longer. Then, he'd wake Bilbo and keep their promise to show Sam and Frodo how to bake. For now though, the once king was warm, content, and absurdly happy over what he'd just heard. He intended to sleep a little more and maybe tell Bilbo of the fauntlings' conversation when he woke. 

Nuzzling lips into messy curls, Thorin closed his eyes and wrapped his arms a little more securely around Bilbo, "Sleep well, _amrâlimê_." 

And mumbled from beneath the blanket in such a way that Thorin _knew_ his beloved was not in fact awake but merely talking in his sleep came a slurred reply of, "Love you too, Thorin."


End file.
